


Empire

by MrBenzedrine89, waymay



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, Humor, Lime, Romance, Sexual Tension, dramione - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-09
Updated: 2017-10-05
Packaged: 2018-08-15 09:07:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 16
Words: 73,832
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8050426
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MrBenzedrine89/pseuds/MrBenzedrine89, https://archiveofourown.org/users/waymay/pseuds/waymay
Summary: Life has been rough since the War ended, and Draco Malfoy hits an all-time low as his businesses go under. When he receives a letter from an anonymous source offering help, can he turn it all around and build his empire?





	1. It's All Business

**Author's Note:**

> Summary: Draco Malfoy hits an all-time low as his failing businesses go under. When he recieves a letter from an anonmyous source offering help, can he turn it all around and build his empire? Dramione.
> 
> A/N: Hello, everyone! Welcome to my first ever Dramione FanFic! I'm super excited for you guys to read this, and I couldn't have done it without the wonderful, the amazing MrBenzedrine89 to help me fill the gaps and insert hilarious quips. You are the best! Be sure to check out her awesome fics: How to Train Your Auror (1 and 2!), Sex Ed, and Bond.

 

**Prologue**

 

The Fall of the Dark Lord; the day people cheered on the streets and kissed their loved ones, despite the death, destruction, and chaos. The day that the entire magical world breathed a sigh of relief. Well, perhaps not everyone. For Voldemort's followers, it would begin a changing of the tides. Now, they would be the ones on the run. Now, they would be the ones locked away in cells and judged on their upbringing. And no one, amongst the Death Eaters, felt this more than the Malfoys.

After Voldemort's fall from power, all Death Eaters were found guilty and rounded up, sent to Azkaban to live out their days without their magic and without their freedom- most notably, Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy. The Wizengamot took it as their personal vendetta to make an example of the family; their faces were posted in every news article, their trial a public spectacle of gossip and rumors. If there was a wizarding family living under a rock that had never heard of the Malfoys, they knew now.

Their son, Draco, as luck would have it, was acquitted of all charges, given he was raised under the influence of his parents, and as he was still underaged during the trial, he was the only Death Eater found not guilty.

Being a free man didn't make things easier for Draco. His entire life, he lived comfortably under the roof of the Malfoy Manor, with house elves to, happily, do his bidding. He never knew what it was like to want for anything; his parents had seen to that. With the snap of his fingers or a letter to his father, Draco held the world by a string. But after the Second Wizarding War ended, the string was severed. Families of the Death Eaters were forced to pay for the damages caused by the Dark Lord, and the Malfoy family took the biggest hit.

Not _only_ did the Malfoys shelter other followers and Lord Voldemort, but their Manor served as headquarters for a great deal of Death Eaters' misdeeds. The cellar, alone, served as a prison which, at one point, held Garrick Ollivander, Luna Lovegood, Dean Thomas, and even the Gringotts goblin, Griphook. It was later confirmed Charity Burbage, the professor of Muggle Studies at Hogwarts, had been killed and fed to the Dark Lord's pet snake, Nagini. And these were only the tragedies that could be verified.

As a result, the Malfoy Manor was confiscated by the Ministry, pending further investigation.

With only a few thousand Galleons (which wasn't much by Malfoy standards) left in his vault, Draco sought any method to rebuild his family name and fortune.

* * *

 

**Chapter 1**

**It's All Business**

 

In the light of a dimly lit café sat two very different men, situated as far away as possible from the curious eyes and whispering mouths. It wasn't always foolproof, however -gossip seemed to find its way to the papers, despite precautions.

The first man was rather plump; his sides spilled, uncomfortably, over the edge of the cushioned armchair he'd fashioned himself in as he sat facing towards the entryway and the shoppe's patrons. He looked rather uncomfortable, his belly smooshed against the coffee table. Beads of sweat trailed down his perfectly round, pudgy face. He wore a crown of black, thinning hair, which was combed over in an attempt to cast the illusion that there was more of it.

The second man, seated across from him, looked thoroughly exhausted. He was nearly half his partner's age and size, but the dark circles that hung under his eyes aged him considerably. Unlike his associate, he wore a full head of silver-blonde hair (a particular trait that stood out, whether he liked it or not), and he carried a certain aura -one that made others uneasy. His grey eyes burned into his partner's hazel ones as he watched him squirm uncomfortably in his seat.

"I em sorry to say, _Monsieur_ Malfoy, zat 'Ze Ancient Quill' 'azn't made any money in ze past four monz!" The older man, feigning a terrible French accent, rasped towards his counterpart. Both men knew it was a sham but never made a comment on it. Draco figured it was probably out of fear his partner might be recognized and seen with a Malfoy, but he had no idea how people wouldn't figure out his identity by his belly alone. "And you 'aven't paid ze employees! Zey are all zreatening to leave!" He paused, waiting for the blonde to respond, but he didn't. "Pleez, zis is going to be your zird store clozing zis monz."

After another moment of unbearable silence, Draco sighed and slouched back in his armchair; something rather uncharacteristic of him. He'd been taught never to slump, as it procured an air of bad upbringing. Not that it mattered much anymore. Everyone had already formed opinions on how he must have been brought up as a child. His foot bumped against the leg of the coffee table, disturbing the lattes, which remained untouched.

"Let them go," He responded, tersely, "They're not worth keeping if they're _zreatening_ to leave after a month of working."

" _Oui_ , _Monsieur,_ but-"

"Listen, _Burbage._ Frankly, I don't give a flying fuck what their excuse is," Draco seethed through his teeth, trying his best to keep his voice low. The man was tired -tired of his businesses closing, tired of people leaving, and all-in-all, just tired of working. Who knew it would be this difficult? "I don't need useless worms who- this damned bug!" He snapped at the black beetle that continued to buzz around his head and swatted the diseased creature away, "-who flail around all day doing nothing but complain." His ears perked and, for a second, he swore the bug screamed as it was sent flying away from the duo.

" _Oui_ ,fa but I 'aven't been paid, too, and it's been 'alf a year," Burbage pulled out an already damp handkerchief from his breast pocket and patted his sweat-drenched face, wiping away the perspiration from his oddly thick brows, "I em your inveztor, _Monsieur_ Malfoy." He tucked the piece of cloth back inside, "I 'ave been supporting your beezniz since the last inveztor left. Your businesses are... _défaillant._ "

"What are you saying?"

"I-I em saying zat..." Burbage paused, looking around to see if there were any eavesdroppers. When he was sure no one was listening in, the man leaned in closer towards Draco. The armchair groaned under the shifting weight. "...I-I don't zink I can... can be your partner, anymore."

Draco blinked, his face void of any emotion as he fell back into silence, absorbing the news just delivered. Another business gone under. He should have felt something more than empty, but there had been so many in the last two years, it was hard to be disappointed when it was all he knew. He only wished something would take root before he went completely bankrupt and had to live in a cardboard box on the streets of Diagon Alley.

" _Désolé,_ " Burbage shrugged, looking apologetic, "I em not making any money, and ze wife zreatens to leave me if I dun get zings togehzer."

"You're married?" The disgust in his voice rang loud and clear. For a moment, Draco regretted saying those two words, but the coward wanted to back out of their partnership, so to hell with it, "So, tell me, is it customary for _ze French_ to arrange marriages?" He gave one of his most dastardly smirks.

"What? What does zat mean?"

"Are the French that desperate for marriage that they'd stoop so low as to wed a perspiring, lice infested, wallowing-in-the-mud pig?"

It took a moment for his comment to sink in, but when it did, Burbage's plump face turned cherry red, as did the three rolls around his neck. Draco thought the man had already been sweating profusely, but this certainly took the cake. If he hadn't been sitting in front of the man for the past hour, he would have thought someone pushed him into the ocean. "Of all the insufferable, intolerable, incorrigible…" He put his hand to his chest, insulted, but to Draco it looked as if he were cupping his beefy breast.

"Aha!" Draco slammed his hand down on the table. It took all he had not to jump out of his seat and laughingly point at the man. "I knew you were putting it on! Burbage is, most definitely, British. Did you really think you were fooling anyone with that atrocious accent?"

"I… I am not Britishzz!" Burbage exclaimed, still attempting to feign his French heritage. "'Ow _dare_ you! You zhall rue ze day you crossed me! Mark my wordz! You will nevah find a partner in zis city again!"

The blonde stood, shoving his chair back, and glowered at the man, "So be it, _Monsieur_ Burbage..." He shoved a hand down his pants pocket, pulled out a few sickles, and tossed it onto the table, "Since you're in need of money, be sure to keep the change." Draco stormed out of the establishment, his cold latte left behind in his wake.

* * *

Finding Hermione hidden behind a mountain of paper wasn't anything new; in fact, she quite liked being out of sight. It was a pleasure she didn't often receive since the war ended four years ago. However, as much she enjoyed the solidarity, it was usually short lived.

"'Mione!" The door to her office swung open as a couple of freckled face redheads popped through the frame. What was once her self-proclaimed palace was now overrun by the Weasleys.

"You've got to come out here and look at what George just conjured up!" Ron exclaimed.

The older Weasley, George, piped up, "You're gonna love it!" A grin stretching from ear-to-ear.

At that moment, a very literal firefly- a dazzling display of fire dressed with flaming wings that buzzed around the room- came zooming in, scorching the edges of some of Hermione's extremely important documents.

"Ron!" She shouted suddenly, jumping out of her seat as she frantically put out the mini-fire with the sleeves of her robe. So much for appearing professional, the robe's sleeve was definitely beyond repair. Hermione glared at him. "I am quite busy right n-" A few more of the fireflies came soaring into her office, threatening to light the room up like a bonfire on a hot summer night, " _-close_ the _door_!"

After the war had ended and the trials completed, the Golden Trio traveled all over the world meeting witches and wizards alike. It was _finally_ a time of peace, and, for once, the three could enjoy what was left of their youth. They attended conventions and conferences and even held their own little workshops, teaching others how to defend themselves from other users of the Dark Arts. Hermione's personal favorite had been teaching others the complex Patronus charm and seeing their eyes light up as their guardians flew out of their wands.

By the time Harry, Ron, and Hermione were set to return home, they were approaching their twenties. London changed a great deal during their two-year absence. Harry and Ron took their Auror exams and passed. While Harry continued living out his dreams, Ron eventually stepped down after putting in two years of successful Death Eater capturing and pursued a new career; he became co-manager, with George, at Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes.

Surprisingly, it took Hermione tad bit longer than the other two to figure out what she wanted to pursue. She continued to spend a substantial amount of her time researching magical creature rights, but as she realized her attempts at achieving equal rights for the house-elves had yet to be taken seriously, she placed the project on hiatus and started a new one.

The timing couldn't have been more perfect. Ron's lack of experience as a manager showed. Things weren't quite the same without Fred around. Before, the twins were able to capture the attention of passer-bys with just their hilarious personalities, but with Ron in the picture, floundering over his speeches with less than enthusiastic flare, he seemed more like a (dead) fish out of water. That's seriously how George described his personality. Hermione would later (silently) agree.

The bushy haired brunette groaned as she pulled a stack of burnt paper from the pile. "This, Ron," she gestured towards the mess, "is why you always close the door! Now I have to start all over!"

Since her (literal) take over at Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes, she managed to increase their revenue by a whopping twenty percent, making the joke shoppe one of the most profitable companies in modern times. Hermione was even able to franchise the joke shoppe and open several stores in other wizarding communities throughout the country. Needless to say, she was an essential asset to the company, and the Weasleys knew it. Not that it stopped Ron from forgetting to show her the proper amount of respect sometimes.

And though she'd never admit it, Hermione did have a hand or two in creating some of the wackiest trinkets around, such as the Horse Head Hat, where the wearer's head literally turned into a horse when they wore it, and not to mention the Teeth Terminating Taffy (oh, her parents would have killed her!). While the consumer munched on the chewy sweet, their teeth would fall right out of their gums for as long as they're chewing the candy. The only downfall came from those who didn't read the fine print; it was all an illusion of Hermione's own design.

Ron held his hands up in defeat as he kicked the door shut behind him. "We were excited, is all. Don't get your knickers all up in a twist." He took a few cautious steps towards her desk as she continued to glower at him, "Plus -you can redo all of this in a day, right? It doesn't look that difficult."

She narrowed her eyes as she grabbed several of the folders and flipped through them, double checking its damages. "Luckily, the more important documents are unsinged. Seriously Ron, these files are going to the patent office," She waved the forms in front of him, " _This_ makes it so others can't copy your products and ruin your business, otherwise Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes would have taken a pretty big hit!"

The redhead shrugged nonchalantly, scratching the back of his head, as if the warning, lectured by Hermione, didn't sink in, "Blimey, Hermione, what's gotten you all worked up? It's just paper…"

"Just paper? And I suppose the money you pocket at the end of the day is just weighted metal? I don't hear you complaining when these paperworks fills your coin purse."

"All I mean is you can always write up another, can't you?"

"Ronald, do you have any idea what goes into filling out a monthly projected earnings form?"

"No, not really, no. But it couldn't be that difficult, could it? You think that's hard- you should try peeling rainbow vomit off the ceiling."

Sighing, she whispered, "You can be a real git sometimes, you know that?" Hermione clenched her jaw, pulling stacks of paperwork from her table and roughly shoving them into her charmed handbag. "I'm going home!" She moved past Ron, purposefully shoving her shoulders against his, walked out the room, and loudly slammed the door shut behind her. "The nerve of him sometimes!" She muttered under her breath, dodging a Fanged Frisbee that whizzed past her head.

As she stood outside her office, fuming, she took a moment to observe the store. Since her arrival, Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes stayed consistently packed. Customers, from knee high to elderly, could be seen shopping and testing out products. Their line of products extended from generic joke products, to explosives (for the mischievous boys), to love potions (for the heartstruck girls), and many more in between. Her foul mood quickly lifted as she watched the patrons laugh and enjoy themselves.

Maybe Ron was right; perhaps she was just a bit stressed out from all the work she'd been subjecting herself to. Well, whether he was right or not, he was still a ninny.

She waved to George, who had moved outside of the shop while Hermione and Ron were having their spat, and now entertained a crowd of young children. He held a lit firecracker between his thumb and pointer and warned the children not to approach the dangerous product (something Hermione enforced at the shop in case a child were to get injured onsite) as he immediately dropped it; the lit fuse disappearing within the cannister.

George clipped his nostrils shut with a clothespin, and a few of the kids giggled in confusion. The air grew thick with anticipation as they waited for what was to come next. The firecracker fizzled, and nothing. The look of disappointment began to emerge over the children's faces, until one of them shouted, "Ewwww! What is that smell?" The boy pinched his nose, scrunched up his face, and blanched at the foul odor.

Hermione laughed, emulating the boy's reaction. The firecracker popped with red and yellow sparks, and with each explosion, the smell grew worse. Some of the younger girls screamed, running off to their parents and hiding their faces in their robes to avoid the stench.

"Daddy! It smells like doodie!"

"Fart!"

"Oh man, who did that?!"

A group of boys broke out in laughter as they tried to bat away the smell, wafting it towards each other. George stood at the front with his usual grin painted across his face. Another successful show-and-smell!

With an approving smile, Hermione bid the older Weasley farewell and went off on her own.

Like clockwork, she made her way to _Flourish and Blotts_ bookshoppe a few blocks down, purchased a copy of _The Daily Prophet_ from the counter, and Apparated home.

" _Mrow."_

She glanced down, chocolate eyes meeting amber. Her furry best friend since Hogwarts greeted her arrival home. "Hello Crookshanks." She bent down to pat her moggie. "Catch any bad guys?" He purred, approving her affections.

Hermione made her way into the living room, and, with a sigh, she fell back onto her comfy couch, tossing her bag onto the ottoman next to her. Crookshanks followed suit, leaning against her side, purring once more. "It's been quite the day, I must say, Crooksy," she cooed as he sought her attention, hinting for more pets. Hermione ignored his demands and grabbed the newspaper she purchased moments before.

' _TROLLS TRAVERSES THROUGH TOWN'_

' _NEW VIBRATING NIMBUS: BEST SELLER WITH WOMEN'_

' _HUFFLEPUFF POMPION POTION PREDICAMENT'_

' _WIZARD GIVES BIRTH TO A BABY AFTER CONTRACEPTION SPELL BACKFIRES'_

' _MALFOY FORTUNE TURNS TO MISFORTUNE AS BLUEBLOOD'S BUSINESS BLUNDERS'_

Her eyes lingered on the headline, letting the title sink in. It wasn't the first time she'd seen an article on Malfoy; it certainly wouldn't be the last. The Daily Prophet, or any publication, in fact, loved gossiping about the Malfoy family and their affliction. It must have been hard for him, now that his parents were out of the picture. Things had turned completely sideways for the Malfoys, and she couldn't help but feel a sharp pang in her chest as curiosity got the best of her, and she read the article:

_**Malfoy Fortune turns to Misfortune as Blueblood's Business Blunders** _

_By Rita Skeeter_

(Hermione rolled her eyes, _Of course._ )

_Four years have passed since the fall of the Dark Lord, and three years since His followers were found guilty of conspiracy, murder and dastardly mayhem. However, as many of you readers know, one Death Eater managed to escape without suffering the consequences of his actions: Draco Lucius Malfoy._

_While Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy, among the array of Death Eaters arrested in the aftermath of the War, were quickly taken into custody by officials and sent to Azkaban, Draco lived a free and comfortable life, despite his parents' incarceration. In comparison to his fellow criminal counterparts, of course._

_But, as with all of those with a silver spoon placed in their mouth since birth, the young Malfoy hit a spot of luck, his parents setting aside several vaults filled to the brim with galleons for him to live out the rest of his days in peace. The Ministry, however, wouldn't let the young Death Eater leave without, at least, a slap on the wrist. His fine, for aligning himself with criminals, was to assist in the reconstruction of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry and other locations damaged during Voldemort's wrathful onslaught. Rumor has it that the reconstruction cost the young Malfoy nearly 4 million galleons!_

_Through these past several years, myself and readers watched the fallen aristocrat at his highest high, and now as he reaches his lowest low._

_In the span of two years, the young heir has managed to run a total of no less than ten businesses into the ground. Much to this writer's dismay, today's story is only a continuation of his failure:_

_The Ancient Quill, opened just short of a month and costing a whomping total of 60 thousand galleons to start, closed its doors today. The business was best known (if that) for distributing quills and ink for writing enthusiasts and students, providing lavish and high quality writing utensils. Rumor has it, some feathers used for products were plucked from a phoenix! What a rare commodity! And perhaps, it is for reasons like the bizarre display of high end merchandise that Draco Malfoy was unable to maintain the business. It is obvious to this reporter that, while Draco Malfoy believes himself in touch with today's working wizard, he has no clue how to begin to relate to those of us not blessed with golden diapers from birth._

_"'E duzzen' know ze first zing about running a beezniz," an anonymous source claimed, "All 'e duz ez jus' spend, spend, an' spend! 'E dun care about 'is employeez. 'E's rood, duz not think before 'e speeks end jus' screems at you all ze time! Iz all about him -Draco Malfoy end nobody else!"_

_With his most recent partner out of the picture, Draco Malfoy will now attempt to run his fiasco of an empire on his own._

* * *

Businesses, left and right, closed up shop as the night sky curtained over Diagon Alley; yet, the Leaky Cauldron remained open, loud with laughter and music as patrons enjoyed what was left of the evening.

Well, everyone except for Draco, of course.

With his house confiscated, he sought shelter at the inn above Leaky, buying out, indefinitely, the entire floor space. The living condition was less than ideal and far from his standards, but with no mansion to go back home to at the end of the day, this was his best bet.

To avoid being cooped up in his dinky shelter, Draco spent most of his time downstairs at the pub. He was usually found sitting at the bar with a shot of fire whiskey in his hand. Tonight was no exception.

He stared at the newspaper in front of him, a frown carved into his face as he struggled to focus his eyes on the blurred photo of himself. Well, maybe _it_ wasn't blurry, but his vision certainly was. Merlin, that last shot burned so good hitting the back of his throat. He recognized the scene from the photograph immediately: sitting at the cafe in deep conversation with his ex-partner. When did they snap this photo? He didn't remember a flash going off at all. The big, bold words of the article laughed mockingly in his face. Gossip always found its way to the papers.

"Did you see today's article about Draco Malfoy?" whispered a man not too far away, rubbing the tip of his curled mustache. "What a failure."

"I read somewhere that he deals in dark artifacts just to make ends meet," said the woman next to him, her plump cheeks darkened with blood, no doubt from far too much alcohol.

"I put nothin' past a Malfoy," exclaimed a drunken Irishman at the bar, narrowing his eyes as he pointed down at the photo in his paper. "They're da worst of da worst, in my opinion. Far as I'm concerned, I'm glad his business is goin' down the shitter."

"That so?" Draco slammed his shot glass to the table, flickering his eyes up to meet the imprudent git. "I dare you to say that to my face."

"I thought I smelled somethin' rotten," said the man, turning the corners of his lips upwards to bare his yellow, crooked teeth. "And lookie what I find. A Malfoy, stinkin' up ta place. Tell me, boyo, how does it feel ta know you'll be livin' offa owl droppin's for da rest of yer days?"

"That's interesting. I wonder how you'll like eating through a straw?" Draco stumbled forward, alcohol's kiss taking hold of him as he clambered over towards the man. In a sluggish, yet quick, decision, he drew his fist back and slugged the Irishman clear across the jaw. It contacted with a resounding ' _smack_.' The bar hushed. All eyes fell on the two men, and then on Draco as the patrons soon realized who had thrown the punch.

"That's him, isn't it? Draco Malfoy?"

"Look at him. Shite faced in a bar. The papers must be true."

The Irishman rubbed at his already swollen jaw, flexing it this way and that to pop the joints. He glared daggers at Draco, fisted his beer, downed the lot, and slammed his mug onto the bar top. "You'll be regretin' tha', boyo." It happened in a blur -or again, that could have been his vision- as a hand reached out, fisted his robes, and yanked him forward at the same time that knuckles connected with Draco's nose.

Draco fell backwards, stumbling over his two feel and a stool, onto the dirty tavern floor. His head slammed against the ground, and he stared at the lamp, posted above him, spinning around in circles as the light grew dimmer until it turned back and sent him into nothingness.

* * *

Hermione sat at her desk, a quill in her hand and a blank parchment in front of her. Next to the paper, was the article on Draco Malfoy. Her attention kept going back to the photo of him sitting in the cafe. He still looked very much like how she remembered, though older. Malfoy kept his stylishness about, always well dressed, and not a single hair out of place. And from the looks of it, not only was he taller, but he was leaner. His shoulders were filled out and his jaw was more defined. She found herself wishing the photo was clearer, so she could get a better look at his face.

_"Mrow."_

She snapped her head up from the newspaper, her nose nearly touching the print, and glanced shyly over at her companion, "Not a word to about this to anyone." She booped his nose as he stared at the photo. Hermione could almost see the disgust in his face as he looked at the man in the moving picture.

"It'd be weird just to reach out to him out of the blue, wouldn't it?" She spoke more to herself than Crookshanks, "I haven't spoken or seen him since the battle at Hogwarts." A pause, "Four years..."

Hermione laced her quill through her fingers as her eyes trailed back down to the picture. "Must've been a difficult four years for you." Malfoy leaned back in his chair, his foot bumping against the coffee table while his companion wiped his brow, looking around suspiciously.

"How do I reach out to you?"

* * *

"What in the-" Draco groaned as a trembling hand raised towards his face and gingerly touched his nose, "Fuck!" He slowly opened his eyes, his vision slowly adjusting to the dark room. His head throbbed terribly from dehydration. It was, yet another, hangover.

_Where am I?_ His hands felt around for what he was lying upon -a soft and warm comforter, filled with his own body heat. It smelled of booze and his cologne. His head pounded in protest to the new scent.

Confusion (and pain) filled his thoughts as he pushed himself up; a finger lightly rubbing against his broken nose. _How the Hell did this happen?_ "Damn," He muttered, feeling dried blood caked under his nostrils, "Damn it."

Tap. Tap. Tap.

Draco winced, focusing his attention towards the overpowering rapping sound coming from the curtained window. His head throbbed yet again. While he had no real sense of the current time, he surmised it was still dark outside given no light was shining through the drapery. He could have had a few more hours of sleep instead of dealing with his condition now. _Who would be sending an owl at this time?_

He reached out for his wand, lying conveniently next to him, "Lumos." A (superbly) bright orb gathered energy and formed at the tip of his wand, forcing Draco to turn away, shutting his eyes. "Damn it all to Hell."

He made his way slowly to the wall and drew back the screen. Draco was greeted by an especially small tawny owl with an oversized scroll attached to its leg. It hooted, relieved someone answered its call. The poor thing, exhausted from its journey, flailed about helplessly as it tried to maintain its balance. Draco pushed the window open, allowing the bird to enter.

As he went to close the window, he caught a glimpse of his own reflection. Draco leaned in, positioning his wand to get a better view of his damaged beautiful face. Not only did he fashion a wicked broken nose, he also wore a black eye. Did he get into a fight of some sort? _When? With whom? How?_

His head thumped, exhausted from all the thinking, already. The blonde sighed and turned away from his reflection and towards the owl. "What have you there, boy?" The bird stuck a leg out and gave him a sarcastic (at least, it's what Draco imagined) hoot. He reached forward with his free hand and untied the note, relieving the owl of its heavy burden. "Thank you."

Though Draco wasn't in the best state of mind to read the letter, curiosity did get the best of him. It'd been some time since he received an actual letter. When the public found out Draco had been acquitted of all crimes, the letters began to pour in, sometimes hundreds of Howlers each day. Most of the time the voices were concealed, hiding their identity, as they screamed in his face how he deserved to die and rot in Azkaban. One Howler went as far to threaten his _life_ , stating, 'Magic's too good for someone like you. If I find you in a dark alleyway, I'll slit your throat and dump your body in the ocean to let the fish have their way with you.' Ever since then, he didn't trust the post.

' _Dear Mr. Malfoy,_

_I am a wealthy, independent entrepreneur who, by word of mouth, has heard of your promising business, The Ancient Quill. It is my desire to discuss possible business endeavours with you at your earliest convenience. I will be at The Three Broomsticks Thursday evening at precisely 6PM. If interested, please bring a copy of your projected earnings for the year, as well as a can-do attitude!_

_Sincerely,_  
_An Interested Party'_

An interested party? -An interested party! Draco read and re-read the letter, sure that he'd skipped over some verbal abuse or how it was all some sick joke. When he decided this was, indeed, the actual message that 'an interested party' meant to send (they'd written his name, so they knew who they wrote to, and they even named the business that just tanked…) he shot his fist up into the air and shouted, "Yes!"


	2. First Impressions Are Key

 

Morning arrived slowly for Draco; mostly because of his epic hangover and mysterious wounds, but also partly due to the letter he received in the middle of the night. At some point during the evening, Draco managed to get in some form of sleep. And when he woke up, panick struck him as he scurried off his bed, ignoring the throbbing pain on the sides of his head, searching for the letter he received. He'd dreamt it was just a dream and another chance of redeeming the Malfoy name gone. Of course, it's what he gets for getting himself drunk and hungover. He was still excited over it -to think someone, after all the fiasco, was still interested in helping him achieve his goals. It made his head spin like the alcohol from last night's festivities.

Draco stood in front of the mirror while adjusting his emerald green satin tie. He fashioned a light grey button up and a slate grey suit. Silver eyes reflected back at him as he continued to look over his clothing of choice. The suit was cut to precision (nothing less of Malfoy standards), bold across the shoulders, with gentle lines around the waist. Draco tugged on his button up, pulling out the cuffs of his shirt, making sure they were showing.

Back in Hogwarts, Draco would often wear his hair slicked back with his mother's favorite hair salve. Looking back at old photographs,he cringed as he realized that the salve made his hair appear oily. Thankfully, he'd somehow managed to gather a sense of fashion in his adult years. He still wore his hair longer on top, though he combed it upwards and a bit to the side instead of back, while keeping the sides shorter, reduced to a long stubble, to accentuate his high cheek bones.

He made his way over towards the dining table in another room, re-reading, for what felt like the thousandth time, the letter, making sure it truly said what it said -that it wasn't merely a figment of his imagination. His heart would skip a beat each time he finished reading the letter. At the table sat a steaming hot coffee, freshly brewed by the employees, and next to it, an empty potion vial with the label, 'Cure-All,' assumingly to get rid of his hangover from the previous night. His broken nose was fixed and black eye removed using the Bruise Removal Paste he (discreetly) purchased at the Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes. As much as he'd hate to admit it, the thing worked wonders.

Draco nodded to himself in approval as he straightened his posture and tidied up the seat of his attire. While he made a point to dress nicely on a day-to-day basis, he was not often seen in a business suit. In fact, the only times where he remembered having to wear one was at the Yule Ball and the trial post-War. Regardless of the event, Draco in a suit was, definitely, a sight to be seen.

While he looked calm on the outside, his heart beated a mile a minute -drinking coffee sure didn't do much to ease his nerves. He took a deep sigh and held his right hand out. "Hi -Draco Malfoy. Please to mee- No..." He shook his head, drying his clammy palms on his suit pants, and then stuck his hand out once more, "Malfoy, Draco Malfoy. It's my plea-" He groaned, throwing his head back, "I'm trying too hard. This should be easy!"

He paced back and forth, muttering to himself, "Deep breaths. Just stay calm and be your charming self." He tried to remind himself if this one didn't work out, there would still be plenty others that would be interested in working with him -it was just the matter of finding the right partner.

Draco looked at the clock. _Wait, what? It's only two in the afternoon?_ Why did he get dressed so early?

* * *

Although Hermione stayed up late writing the letter to Malfoy, she was still able to make it into work on time, unlike the Weasley brothers, who always found an excuse for their tardiness. Since there was a minor disaster in the office yesterday, Hermione made sure to work extra hard. And when she did manage to find time to take a break and run into her git of an ex-boyfriend, she purposefully sent a glare at him -secretly hoping to burn a hole through that thick skull of his.

Ron, despite his usual obliviousness, kept clear of the witch all day. He didn't have to look at her to know she was wishing him bad juju. It was the smart thing to do; George warned him not to mess with the wrath that was Hermione, since Ron would often forget what it was like.

Her wand buzzed, snapping her out of concentration. Hermione looked up and tapped her wand, something she charmed several years back, and a near hologram-like apparition faded out from the tip, blinking "5:30," indicating the current time. She tapped it once more to turn it off.

Hermione sighed. Just thirty more minutes before she was to meet up with her future partner. Maybe it was from the lack of sleep last night, but she was nervous. She'd been nervous all day, though she kept herself busy.

She gathered up her paperwork, stacking them neatly into a pile before sliding it all into her bag. Another sigh escaped her lips as she tried hard not to give into her jitters. "Everything will work out," she gave herself a pep talk as she made her way over to the fireplace across the room, "You're Hermione Granger! There's nothing you can't do." Reaching for the woven bag that was sitting on top of the shelf above the fireplace, she grabbed a handful of fine powder and tossed them into the roaring fire. The once red flames changed into an emerald green, indicating that it was safe to travel. She stepped in and cleared her throat, "Three Broomsticks!"

* * *

It was a quarter till 6. The last four hours nearly crawled by; each minute passed slowly as if Draco's heart was making laps around time. It'd been some while since Draco felt this anxious meeting someone. It was weird, but, for some reason, this felt like the right partner, though he had no Earthly idea who it might be.

He looked down at the note in his hand. It was another letter sent to him by his soon-to-be partner. Being interested and not wanting to lose an opportunity on another partnership, Draco immediately responded (as soon as he was well enough, of course), asking how he would recognize them if he was given no name. The reply was simply, "You'll know when you see me." Perhaps he'd met this person before. The thought both thrilled and terrified him. What if this was someone out for blood? No, he reminded himself. This was a potential business partner, and he ought not to worry himself with such trivial thoughts. Regardless of whether the meeting turned successful or not, curiosity definitely got the best of him. Now, he only prayed it wasn't some cruel joke just to get his hopes up.

He pulled out a golden pocket-watch from his suit and flipped open the lid. 5:55. _Might was well go in now._

With a deep breath, he pushed opened the door to the Three Broomsticks. Of all the places his potential patron picked, it was the one littered with Hogwarts students and professors. However, much to his surprise, the pub was empty, save one other person, and not even the server was present.

At least he wouldn't have issues picking his partner out of the sea of people that would usually be here.

The mysterious figure sat all the way at the other end of the shoppe, their back turned to him. They didn't even bother looking up when the door chimed open. As Draco stepped closer, he began to realize his potential partner was actually a woman. She had narrow shoulders and a slim frame -and from the looks of it, wide hips, too. Her hair was long and curly, and though the pub was dark, she looked to be a brunette. Hopefully, her face was as attractive as the rest of her body.

With newfound confidence, he straightened his back and squared his shoulders. Draco walked with resolve towards the figure, and when he finally approached her, he cleared his throat, grabbing her attention. "Good evening, Miss-" She turned around, and Malfoy froze, his jaw wide open as he stared at the woman before him. " _Granger?_ "

* * *

Hermione turned to the voice that rose an octave higher at her name, somewhat entertained by the expression on his face, though he quickly replaced it with a cool facade. "Eve-"

Before she even had the opportunity to respond to Draco Malfoy, who she knew was in desperate need of help, he retorted to his own exclamation, "You _must_ be at the wrong place. Hop on out of here, will you? I'm waiting on someone rather _important,_ and I don't need to muck it all up by being seen with you."

Well, so much for a good impression and a can-do attitude.

"Actually," She stood from her seat, a wide smile planted across her face, " _I_ was the one who contacted you!" She tried to maintain a positive demeanor, but she could feel herself trying too hard already. Keeping a neutral attitude towards Malfoy wasn't something she had ever attempted before, and she found it rather difficult. But if Harry could do it at his trial years back, she could do it now.

His brows furrowed as he continued to stare at her. " _What_?"

"Malf-no, Dra-, Mmm.. No, Malfoy, I can explain," Hermione stumbled over her words as she tried to figure out how to address him.

"No, there's no need for that." He threw his hand up to silence her. "This," he gestured between them, "Is, obviously, some practical joke." Humiliation written across his face, he turned away to leave the Three Broomsticks.

Hermione mustered up her courage quickly and planted her hands on her hips. "Draco Lucius Malfoy," she spoke sternly; it always worked on Ron and Harry. "You sit your fanny down. Now."

His nostrils flared at the sound of her using his full name, and his eyes widened, bewildered, at the fact she even had the galls to use it in this sort of situation. Malfoy stared at her, unmoving, as if he was calculating his next move. A silent war raged on between the two of them, and after another moment, he caved. "Fine -but you only have ten minutes. I don't want to be seen sitting next to you."

Hermione rolled her eyes, "Ten minutes won't be enough. We're discussing very important topics here. If ten minutes is all you gave your old partners, then I'm not surprised why they all gave up in the end." She straightened her robes, pulling lint balls off the fabric, "So, I've been reading in the papers, about your businesses-"

"-Is that why you want me here?" he sneered. "To sit me down and laugh in my face? Is _that_ why you sent the letter?"

"I am _not_ Ronald Weasley!" Draco snorted at the mention of his name, to which Hermione rolled her eyes."And If you let me _finish_ , maybe you'll know that I'm not here to _gloat,_ but to speak _business_ with you." She could feel herself losing patience with the insolent man-child. She huffed, taking in a deep breath. Two minutes hadn't even passed, and the two of them were bickering like school children. "I don't know if you're aware, Malfoy, but I've been helping the Weasleys out with their joke shoppe-"

"Really?" He feigned a laugh. " _The_ Hermione Granger -stooping so low as to help the weasels out with their store? What happened to the witch that wanted to 'change the world'? Are you doing it through snot-cicles and rubby o'chickens? How clever."

"Don't be a twat!" She slammed her hand down on the table. Instantly, she regretted it. "Look Malfoy-" Hermione sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. Was it supposed to be so tiring dealing with him? "-I'm not here to rub anything in your face. I'm here as a _businesswoman_ , and I'm here to help you create a successful line of products."

"Truly?" he asked, his tone disbelieving. "Alright then, prove it."

She blinked at him. "I'm here. What more proof do you require?"

Malfoy rubbed his chin, no doubt lost in his dubious thoughts. Then a wild smirk crept up the sides of his lips. "Refer to me as 'Malfoy-the-Magnificent.'"

"You… want me to… _what_?" Hermione's mouth fell open, flabbergasted.

"If you're serious about wanting to help me, you'll do it. If this is all some sort of ruse, I doubt you'd stoop yourself so low to keep the act up."

Though she was furious at his request, she had to admit, deep down, it was a fair argument he made. " _I_ came to help _you_ , remember? Business associates don't address themselves in such childish ways."

"Are you calling _me_ childish? Which one of us works with snot blasters and charmed whoopee cushions?"

"Clearly, the one that _works_." She narrowed her eyes. "You should try it sometime."

He stared at her, eyebrows raised, and, yet again, their silent war ensued. Eventually, Hermione caved, not wanting to lose, but clearly trying to be the adult in the situation, and said,

"Shall we get to work, _Malfoy-The-Magnificent_?"

His smirk faltered a moment, clearly taken aback by her concedement at his request. He raised both of his eyebrows, nodded in appreciation, rubbed his chin, and smirked again. "Well then, Miss Granger. Proceed."

Hermione's face fell into a grin from ear-to-ear, and she placed her briefcase atop the table, shaking her mug of butterbeer in the process. "Thank you, Mister Malfoy. Let's begin!"


	3. Networks Create Net Worth

 

 

_Bzzzz. Bzzzz. Bzz-_

"Oh, gosh, Malfoy, we've been here for four hours already!" Hermione tapped on her wand as it revealed the time. "I really need to go home and get ready for tomorrow." She, quickly, stacked the papers strewn about the table.

Surprisingly, time passed quickly for the two of them. Though she was excited to assist Malfoy in rebuilding his business, she, at first, wasn't sure how much she was going to enjoy actually being around the man. But, it wasn't all too bad. While they were deep in their conversation, the two of them bickered back and forth, throwing quips and comments at each other, as if they were still in school. It didn't take long for all the nervousness to wash away.

"Here," Hermione pulled a blank parchment from the stack and quickly scribbled some texts before handing it to the blonde. "Your homework."

He glanced down, looking at her assignment, "Homework, huh? And here, I thought I was done with school." Malfoy chuckled a bit while his steely grey orbs meeting her brown ones as he gingerly accepted the paper.

Hermione understood his doubts, noticing the apprehension in his voice as he spoke. He still felt uneasiness toward the candid conversation, even though she meant well for him. After everything he'd gone through, she knew it would take him some time before he could build a solid foundation of trust with her.

"Well," He cleared his throat, "I best be heading home, then." Malfoy stood up, scratching the back of his head. "Uh..." He cleared his throat once more, looking away, unsure how to approach the next situation.

"Good night, Malfoy," Hermione smiled, reaching her hand out towards. "It was a pleasure seeing you again, and I'll see you in a few days?"

Malfoy stared at her hand and, quickly, grasped her hand in a crisp, firm shake. While Hermione and Malfoy weren't friends, if one would even use such a word between the two, Malfoy wasn't ever one to be seen as less than proper. He squared his shoulders and straightened himself while nodding to the witch, "Yes. It, definitely, was a surprise to see you, Granger. Have a good evening."

She watched him Disapparate as he stepped out of the inn and returned to organizing her stack. Over the course of several hours, the two of them managed to talk about his business ventures to finances to patents. Hermione had an inkling about his business plans, whether he was the one actually running them or not, and she was right -Malfoy had no earthly idea what he was doing. She shook her head as she recounted their conversation.

"Miss Granger," a voice piped up from behind. Hermione jumped and quickly grabbed her wand before turning around, "Oh! S-sorry, I-"

"Madam Rosmerta!" The younger witch sighed, lowering her wand, "Sorry! I- I wasn't expecting you so early." Hermione walked over the the older woman, giving her an apologetic hug.

"I startled you," The witch laughed quietly. "How was your meeting?"

"It... went well," She smiled as she picked up her belongings on the table, "Surprisingly." Hermione made her way back over to the woman. "Thank you, again, so much for being so agreeable with... this." She gestured at the inn. "I know it can get pretty busy for you here, and it means a lot. Truly!"

Madam Rosmerta shook her head and smiled. "If it wasn't for you and Harry Potter, I wouldn't be here today." She cupped the young witch's hand in her own. "I should be the one thanking you, standing up for me during the trial."

The older witch, for the past several years, was most known being under the influence of the Imperius Curse during the War by Draco Malfoy. It was she who passed on the cursed opal necklace to Katie Bell and poisoned the mead during Christmastime with the intentions of killing Professor Dumbledore. She was pardoned during the trial due to Harry, Ron, and Hermione's testimony.

However, because it was Draco Malfoy who cast the Curse onto her, she was quite weary of opening Three Broomsticks to him. It took a great deal of convincing on Hermione's end.

"Hermione, my dear," Madam Rosmerta patted her hand. "You know I, absolutely, adore you and the boys- but please, be careful with Draco Malfoy." Her voice was low, as if someone could listen in on their conversation. "They... they're... different from everyone else. The Malfoys. They get what they want through any means. Please don't get yourself tangled up in their mess."

Hermione smiled, nodding, completely understanding her weariness. "Thank you for your concern. Truly. But Mal- Draco, he's... he's changed. He's not the same person you know him as anymore. He's free from his parents' control. He's a good man. He's just... trying to find himself."

The older woman sighed, her shoulders slumped ever so slightly. "You're a smart witch, my dear. Please, just be careful."

"I will -thank you." Hermione gave the woman another hug before bidding farewell to the woman and Disapperated home.

* * *

Draco was mentally exhausted. It'd been so long since anyone picked his brain the way Hermione did. He plopped down onto his, less than comfy, bed and stared at the wrinkled paper in his hand.

_Homework, huh?_

Granger wanted him to figure out, _exactly_ , what it was he wanted to do with his businesses. According to the witch, he was spreading himself too thin by creating different businesses with different focal points. Her main suggestion was to have the stores, temporarily, close down and they would, then, brainstorm on restructuring the business model. Granger also threw out words like branding and traffic marketing. Whatever those meant. But, most importantly, she wanted him to think about what he was passionate in and build from there.

The word stumped him. He ruffled his hair, pulling it back, as he continued to stare at the paper. _Passon?_ Having passion, for, well- _anything_ in this world left him many moons ago.

There just wasn't time for passion, anymore.

Draco sighed, "My brain hurts." He set the piece of paper aside and stood up, making his way towards the kitchen.

Though he'd been living at the Leaky Cauldron for some time, he couldn't get over just how small the space was. He looked around, the kitchen barely passed for it. It had a sink, a stove, some cabinets, and a refrigerator. He tsked and made his way over towards one of the cabinets and pulled out a fresh bottle of firewhiskey.

"This should do it."

* * *

"Ronald Bilius Weasley! Wake up! Right now!" Hermione pounded on the closed door to Ron's room. It was, precisely, 6:42 AM, and they were about to be late. Today, she could finally turn in the damned patent forms. It took her three whole months to get in touch with the Ministry's Office of Patents and Trademarks. Three whole months! What else could they have their hands full with? She was Hermione Granger, for God's sake. And Ron was about to ruin everything by being late!

"I'm up!" He shouted from the other side. A few seconds later, Ron swung the door open. "Merlin, what's got you all wound up these past few days?"

The witch glowered. "You! Y...YOU!" She pointed up and down at his pajamas. "GET DRESSED!" She shoved the redhead back into his room and slammed the door shut once more. "I will not have this office visitation ruined because of you!" Her already bushy hair seemed to become even more unruly in her state of anger, almost as if it was growing along side with her foul temper.

A few days had gone by since Hermione first met with Malfoy. The two of them hadn't exchanged a single owl since. She was nervous the first night, afraid he wouldn't be interested in continuing with her business proposition, but then, who else would he go to? No one, really, came to mind. Plus, with all the tabloids and papers gossiping about his newest failures, the potential partners pool was certainly dwindling.

She felt a little guilty cheering at the thought of Malfoy having no one else to turn to, but honestly, the chances of sealing the deal with him was greater. It was, definitely, a dog-eat-dog world.

* * *

"Thank you, again, for your time Mr. Cattermole. We -Ron and I, we really appreciate it. And, and I'm really sorry we're late." Hermione grasped the Ministry official's hand, shaking it vigorously, "I, we understand how important your job is, and I promise this won't happen again." The witch turned and glared at her partner, tilting her head over towards the official several times. Her eyes widened ever so slightly at his slow response.

"Oh! Oh-erm," Ron stuttered, "Yes! We are so sorry we're late." He grabbed both Hermione and the man's hand. "This isn't weird." He released his grasp and scratched the back of his head and muttered a 'thank you' under his breath.

Hermione rolled her eyes. Never rely on Ronald Weasley for anything important. She never learned her lesson.

"Here are the papers." She pulled out a folder from the satchel. "Everything has been documented, signed, and notarized by the Gingotts goblins."

"Hrm..." The older man accepted the papers, taking a seat behind his overly sized desk. "Yes, everything does seem to be in order here."

"Of course!" Ron puffed his chest out, proud. "Leave it to Hermione Granger. Amazing as always." He wrapped an arm around the witch, but she quickly smacked the hand away.

Cattermole raised an eyebrow at the two before he slipped on his spectacles and further inspected the documents. "Certainly not punctual." Hermione shot Ron a jabbing glare. It was his fault after all. "But, I will have the patents approved in a week's time. I will owl you the certificates, so there's no need for you schedule another appointment."

Hermione nodded enthusiastically. "Thank you so much!" She was elated knowing she didn't have to rewrite the patent forms -they were a pain in the ass to fill out. And also, she was happy knowing she didn't have to awkwardly walk into the Burrow early in the morning to wake up Ron again- at least, not for some time. It was always awkward running into Molly (and sometimes, Arthur); the woman tried so hard to try and mend Ron and Hermione's relationship.

In fact, their romance didn't last long. It was only six months after the War when they decided to, mutually, end things. While she still loved Rons, what she felt was something completely different from being _in_ love with him (much to Molly's dismay -she really wanted Hermione as an in-law.). She loved him as she did Harry. It was a little awkward, since they severed their relationship while on their tour around the world, but in the end, these things always end up fixing themselves.

"I'm so happy knowing everything's worked out!" Hermione exclaimed gleefully as they walked out the office and towards the lobby. She stretched her arms high above her head and let out a satisfied sigh. "All the hard work these past several days paid off!"

Ron smiled in return. "Yea, sorry 'bout all the extra work, 'Mione. I know you worked hard, and I shouldn't have added extra stress."

She smiled at his response as he finally realized his mistake. "It's quite alright. It wouldn't be like you to not mess anything up," Hermione laughed, not realizing where she was going and bumped into someone. "Oof!" She grabbed her nose as it smooshed into the stranger's collarbone. "Sorry, sorry, I wasn't payin-Oh! Malfoy."

Hermione looked up at the blonde who stared down at her, and took a few steps back. No. Not a stranger. Definitely not a stranger.

"Granger." He acknowledged her presence with a firm nod of his head. "Merlin, do you always smell like parchment?" Hermione wasn't sure if that was supposed to be an insult -she rather enjoyed the smell of parchment...

"Watch where you're going, Malfoy." Ron sneered, stepping between the two in a protecting gesture.

"Still fighting her battles, I see." Draco raised an eyebrow, looking at the redhead with an obvious bored expression.

"I don't hear an apology."

"Ron-"

"As I recall, she was the one who ran into me," Draco feigned a yawn. "You're wasting my time, Weasel. Please, do move out of the way." He tried to shoo him off with a wave of his manicured hand.

Ron, not to back down easily, scoffed in a heated flurry, "What business do _you_ have at the Ministry? It certainly isn't to celebrate your successful business." He folded his arms across his chest, and puffed out his chest once more, "Oh, wait. Are you closing down another store? Is that it? It's the only reason why you'd be seen out in the daytime, given all the wizards still wish you were in the cell with your family."

The look on Draco's face was one of being slapped clear across the face. He opened his mouth, ready to respond, but Hermione quickly interjected.

"Ron!" She smacked his arm, sending him a deathly glare. "That's enough from you. _I_ bumped into him. There's no reason you need to bring his parents into this."

"He was being rude!" The redhead gestured towards the blonde.

"And what did you think you were being? A shining beacon of humility?"

"I don't have time for this." Draco glanced down at his watch and moved past the arguing duo, continuing on with his day.

"Let's go, 'Mione," Ron pulled on her arm as he tried to direct the both of them towards the Floo.

"A-actually, Ron," Hermione planted her feet, looking behind her. She quickly conjured away the satchel that rested across her chest. "I think I left my bag in Mr. Cattermole's office." When the redhead turned around, she looked down, looking confused.

"I coulda sworn you had it with you when you walked out."

"Silly me," Hermione sighed, smacking her forehead, "I must have been too excited and just left it there!"

"I can get it."

"No, no! I'll do it. You need to open up the shoppe with George, and I don't think you left a very good impression on Mr. Cattermole, anyway."

He scratched his head. "I s'pose. Doesn't it seem like everyone's got a wand stuck up their arse these days? Ah- well, I'll see you in a little bit, a'right?"

She waved to her friend, watching and making sure he left before she turned around and searched for Malfoy.

* * *

He didn't get too far before Hermione found him. Actually, looking for him was easy. He was tall and as blonde as could be. "Malfoy!" She called out to him, though he made no attempt to stop walking. Hermione, quickly, appeared at his side, almost out of breath -long legs meant long strides. "Malfoy."

"Oh, Granger," He drawled, "Where's your boyfriend?"

" _Not_ my boyfriend," she snapped. She didn't like it when people assumed them still together. Not that Ron wasn't an alright bloke. But, as per example from his confrontation moments ago, he was hot headed and most certainly not someone Hermione wanted to represent her significant other. She couldn't believe, even now, how irate Ron had gotten at simply seeing Malfoy again. Some grudges, it seemed, carried on clean into adulthood.

"Right, how could I forget? It was only all over the news."

Hermione stared at him as he continued to make his way towards his destination, "Is it true? Another one of your businesses is closing?"

He stopped and looked down at the witch. He remained silent, but his eyes darkened at the comment. It was all the answer she needed.

"That's absurd," Her brows furrowed at the thought. It'd only been a few days since The Ancient Quill closed, and now another one? It's unfathomable. Even if a business is going under, it doesn't crash and burn one after another, especially when they're separate entities. "Those -are those the business documents?" She pointed at the manilla folder in his hand, "Let me see them."

Malfoy continued to stare at the witch. It was almost as if an internal debate was going on in his head. Should he trust her? Or should he just ignore her and go on his merry way? He sighed and handed it to her.

Hermione quickly flipped through the pages; her eyes quickly analyzing every word on each sheet. Her brows furrowed and she chewed on her bottom lip. A quick minute passed by before she drew her attention towards the blonde once more, "Okay. Give me two days. Let me figure this mess out. Something smells fishy."

"More like dusty old books, if you ask me," He quipped, "Why do you need two days?"

"I think the numbers are wrong here, they don't add up. I need to do some calculation and figure out what's going on. Were you going to the Department of Licensing Inquiry?" She glanced in the direction Malfoy headed towards. "Reschedule with them. I know Alice Creevey; I can get her to book you for another day."

"Okay..." Malfoy blinked, unsure how to proceed. "So what do I do until then?"

"Have you worked on your homework?"

"Always the homework with you, huh?" He chuckled quietly. "What's changed over these few years?"

"Well," She started, "I helped run a successful business." She began listing a few number of other things. "Oh! You were being sarcastic..." Hermione's voice grew quieter as she realized his earlier statement, and a faint blush crept across her cheeks. She earned a faint smile from the blonde. "Well, have you looked into anything?"

"I haven't," he shrugged. "I don't really know where to start, to be honest."

"Enjoy your free time for once." Granger smiled at Draco. "You've been working hard, and Merlin knows you've been having a hard time. Go do something fun! Get your mind off things."

"I don't do fun. Not anymore, at least," He murmured, looking away from the witch. It was hard to watch someone be as chipper as her and realize he could never achieve that kind of easiness."I haven't enjoyed anything since the War."

"Did you say something?" She piped as she tilted her head to the side. "You started muttering."

"Nothing, Granger." Draco cleared his throat. "I'll look around." He wasn't sure why he was taking her suggestion to heart, but at the time, it seemed like the right thing to do.

"I'll get in touch with you as soon as I confirm these numbers."

"Sure. Do what you need to do." He slipped his hands into his slacks, clenching his jaw. It wasn't like him to take help from someone like her, but god, was he getting desperate these days. "Um, cheers, then." With his last comment, he quickly turned away from the brunette and hightailed out of the Ministry.

* * *

It was nearly two in the afternoon when Draco found himself sitting at a local coffee shoppe in Diagon Alley. He shuddered, blundling his coat closer around him as the late fall breeze passed through. He'd spent the last several hours wandering around the area, visiting different odds and end shoppes. The thoughts of his business failing plagued his mind as he watched the stores enter and leave with happy customers.

He wanted that for _his_ business, but how?

Draco sighed. As much as he wanted to relax (as per Granger's demands), he couldn't. He felt so wound up and tense, almost as if he was in a straightjacket with nowhere to go and nothing to do.

_What do I enjoy? What's fun around here?_

The barista from the shoppe came out, placing a cuppa onto the table. He thanked her, but the woman merely nodded, avoiding eye contact, and quickly scurried back into the store. Another sigh escaped his lips as he watched his breath get carried away in the wind. It was always that way, regardless of where he went. He thought he'd be used to it by now, but… nope. It still stung.

His ears perked as, suddenly, a child screamed. His head turned in the direction of the sound, and he saw a father and a son walking out of Quality Quidditch Supply. The child jumped for joy, screaming at the top of his lungs at the newly purchased broom. The father laughed while attempting to calm the boy down and reminded him to treat the broom with care.

Draco pursed his lips. He remembered when he used to enjoy Quidditch, playing for the Slytherins back at Hogwarts and even with Crabbe and Goyle during the holidays. Merlin, were those two terrible at the sport. He quietly laughed as he took a sip of his coffee.

"Ow, hot!" He gasped, setting down the coffee and sticking his tongue out as if the cool breeze would lessen the burning.

* * *

Hermione sat behind her desk at Weasley's Wizard Wheezes. The door closed and locked. She made it clear to both Weasley brothers she was to remain undisturbed for the next few hours of the work day. Ron had shrugged at George, confused as to why her peppy mood suddenly turned sour.

The room daunted with silence, devoid of all sounds save for the scribbling of her quill.

Her brows furrowed. If she creased them anymore, they'd probably end up stuck that way. She pulled out a calculator, something she snuck from home in the muggle world, and punched in numbers with one hand while she took down notes in the other.

"The numbers... they're all wrong," she muttered. "Does he even look at his balance statements? But this doesn't make _sense_. Just one look, and it's obvious that something isn't right." Hermione leaned back in her seat, pausing for a moment. Her eyes scanned between the documents Malfoy handed her and her own notes, trying to make sense of what was going on.

"Malfoy's getting conned out of millions of galleons."

* * *

Draco sat upon a newly purchased broomstick, the Nimbus 2K3, hovering high above Leaky Cauldron.

He forgot the last time he perched atop a broomstick. Was it while he was still in Hogwarts, playing for his house? Or maybe it was during the War...He shook his head in an attempt to free his mind from going back into his dark past.

The sun had set hours ago, and businesses were closing. The lights flickered and faded, and the city darkened. But from the sky, the scenery was still beautiful. He could hear the laughs and indiscernible conversations echoing from those leaving the inn. Small balls of light bouncing ever so slightly as witches and wizards cast a _lumos_ spell from their wands. Though the town fell into slumber, the citizens were still, very much, awake.

A storm rumbled overhead, and Draco looked up, seeing lightning bouncing off the clouds from above. In almost an instant, rain began pouring down, drenching himself from head to toe.

"Damn it," he cursed, pulling his robe closer around his body as the cold water pelted his skin. It was just his luck.

Draco shifted his weight and wrapped one ankle over the other, pinching his thighs tightly around the broom. He leaned forward, prepping himself to descend towards Leaky Cauldron as the rain beat against his face. It would be just his luck that a storm would come out of nowhere the one day of the year he decided to take up Quidditch again. He grasped his Nimbus, muscle memory strong as he dipped forward, picking up speed. A flash of lightning streaked across the sky, too close for comfort, and Draco's hand jumped in reflex. "Fuck!" Without warning, Draco Malfoy slipped off his broom and plummeted down, down, down towards the ground below.

 


	4. Dream it, Do it

 

" _Fuck!" Without warning, Draco Malfoy slipped off his broom and plummeted down, down, down towards the ground below_ … _he can see the ground now, and it's calling his name. Death. It's calling to him, and he'll surely die, and without building up his family name, without an heir, without even having tried out the wheelbarrow..._

Then it dawned on him.

He was still on the broom.

Holy shit.

Luckily for the ex-Slytherin, his thighs' death grip on the broom saved him from toppling onto the cobblestone of Diagon Alley. Draco hung upside down while still hanging onto the Nimbus 2K3. His breathing was ragged as he looked around him, silently praying there would be no more lightning bolts. Another strike near him, and he was sure he'd fall to his death.

Though Draco would still consider himself relatively athletic, his stamina didn't match the sixteen-year-old Draco's. He inhaled, attempting to slow down his panicked heart and swung back and forth on the broom. "Ugh," He groaned, already feeling the burn in his abs after the fifth swing. All the late night drinking didn't help him. Maybe he should stop.

The broom rocked uneasily as he tried to build momentum. Another thirty seconds, and Draco was finally able to propel himself right side up. His hands, quickly, finding the wooden handle, and he held on tight.

His heart was beating in his ears. He looked around, wide eyed, wondering if anyone saw what happened. Draco kind of hoped they did. It was pretty cool after all! He grinned and laughed. What a thrill! It'd been so long since he felt so alive!

"Holy shit!" He was still laughing as he carefully approached the patio of his room at the Leaky Cauldron. As he lands, he planted both feet firmly onto the wet ground, just in case there was another fall. He pushed over the sliding glass door, and quickly moved into the dining room. The room came to life as he stepped onto the carpeted floor. The flames of the candles and lamps, scattered throughout the loft, flickered softly.

His clothes were drenched in rainwater and he made a small puddle on the wooden floor of the dining room, but a quick dry spell solved everything. Draco, gently, leaned the broom against the wall, and the sound of his heart pounding echoed in the room.

Slowly, Draco came down from his high, his heart rate returned to normal. He stared at the hypnotizing pattern of the rainfall, listening to them drum against the wooden deck outside. In the distance, he could hear the thunder roar. It was going to be a long rainy night.

Without a sound, he lifted his wand, silently conjuring, yet, another bottle of fresh fireball whiskey and an old fashioned glass from his liquor cabinet. The bottle opened with a loud pop as he continued to pour himself a generous amount of whiskey into the glass.

He took a sip of the liquor, grimacing at the bitter taste on his tongue and the burning at the back of his throat. While he enjoyed his selection of alcohol, he could never get used to the initial taste.

Draco glanced down, flexing his right hand. _Some anti-slip gloves would have been nice..._ Once Draco had a grip on the boom, after gracefully saving himself from almost plummeting to his death, he held onto the broomstick as if his life (literally) depended on it. His hands were red and sore.

He glanced back over towards the Nimbus 2K3, and just like that, a metaphorical light bulb came to life.

* * *

_Knock. Knock._

Someone tapped lightly on the door to her office, waking Hermione from her slumber. She sat up, startled, as a sheet of parchment sticks to her face. She peeled it off, grimacing at the dampness of the paper.

"What?" She muttered while looking down at her table. There was so much drool! Hermione cursed at herself for being so careless and attempted to dab away the slobber. "Damn it."

Another knock sounded.

"Oh-Come in!"

The door opened slowly, and Ron's head peeked through, "You're still here, 'Mione?"

"Yea," She wiped her face with the sleeve of her robes, hoping her friend didn't see any residue on the corner of her lips and cheek. "I, uh, I've been crunching in some numbers for the shoppe!" What a lie. She was never a good liar, but Ron was usually dense enough to fall for anything.

"Wow, we're doing that well, huh?" Sensing her good mood, the redhead stepped further into the office and shut the door behind him. "Good to know!"

Hermione sighed in relief, knowing he bought her lie. She hated lying, but she couldn't tell Ron she was working with Malfoy. His head would, probably, explode. "What are you doing here, anyway? Rather, what time is it?" She checked her wand, 10:20.

Ron shrugged, "I noticed you were still in the office when George and I closed. Figured I'd check up on ya to see if you were still here." He chuckled, "It's not unlike you to pull all nighters."

She laughed alongside him, "Somehow, it's quite unlike _you_ to notice I've been working all day."

"I pay attention to things, ya'know!" Ron huffed and plopped down onto the armchair across from hers, "So, tell me, how are the numbers?"

Hermione hesitated, quickly slipping the manilla folder under a pile of other documents. "I believe we're making roughly fifteen thousand galleons a month." She noticed Ron's jaw drop at her numbers. It wasn't an all out lie, but rather a ballpark of the number. Honestly, she hadn't the time the work on the joke shoppe's finance, yet. She'd get around to the specifics soon enough.

"That's amazing. Ever since you came around, business certainly has been booming!" He smiled at the witch. A pang of guilt struck her heart as she returned the smile. "Oh, I brought you dinner from home. Mom made delicious meatloaf tonight." He pulled out a paper bag and handed it over to Hermione. "I know you forget to eat when you're working hard."

"Oh, Ron, thank you." Her smile grew, accepting the food. Her stomach grumbled at the smell of Molly's meatloaf.

"'Mione, I know I've been apologizin' a lot, but I really am sorry. Especially when we saw Malfoy at the Ministry." His cheeks grew red, "It's just, seein' him gets my blood boilin', ya'know? Malfoy- The man should be locked up in Azkaban, but here he is! Roaming free, doing God knows what!" Ron was already getting riled up just from bringing up the poor Slytherin.

She sighed, confirming the fact that breaking the news to Ron about their partnership was a no go. But, Ron took a deep breath, relaxing his tense body when he noticed Hermione's lack of response towards his jab.

Hermione popped open the container, her mouth filling up with saliva. "Mmm... it smells so good!"

Time always seemed to pass quickly whenever they enjoyed themselves. It'd been some time since Hermione and Ron separated, but the two of them continued to share a strong bond, much like a brother and sister.

"Oh, look at the time." Ron gestured towards Hermione's flashing wand clock. "I should go -sure you have a lot more work to do. Can't go lightin' your office up again, right?" He stood up and made his way towards the witch, giving her a big hug, "Thank you for all your work, 'Mione."

She laughed, "Well, I am getting paid for it!"

As soon as Ron Disapperated, Hermione cracked down on business. There was a lot of work to be done- more than what she anticipated, especially from Malfoy's side of things. Plus, there were still some numbers she needed to punch in for the joke shoppe as well.

"Damn it, Malfoy. Just how many shoppes have you opened and closed?!"

* * *

The morning rays shined through the windows as Draco lie away on his bed. He tossed a Quaffle into the air and caught it, repeating the action over and over. For him, it was almost like meditation. His fingers caressed every nook and cranny of the ball,the leathery material soft to the touch.

He hadn't slept a wink last night.

Inspiration _actually_ came to him. And he took a moment to thank the gods above for the near death experience. Without the lightning almost striking him, he wouldn't have come up with some early (and _awesome_ , might he add) concept for Quidditch accessories.

Draco glanced over at the table he slaved over all night. The trash can was filled to the brim with crumbled paper, full of rejected ideas. The ones approved were sprawled all over the desk, and a faint smile crept across his lips.

It'd been years since he found himself enjoying Quidditch. He'd been so busy with life, he didn't have the time to enjoy things. And for some reason, he took that bushy haired witch's advice.

Odd how these things turn out.

Maybe he should tell Granger about his rekindled -dare he say it, _passion_?

* * *

"This has been one hell of a roller coaster, Hermione." He looked into her eyes as they stood outside the newly opened store. An oversize banner, hanging in front of the door, reading 'GRAND OPENING.' Confetti littered the floor. It was an epic party.

He popped open the last champagne bottle and poured the bubbly drink into a crystal flute and handed one to the witch. Their fingers brush ever so slightly as she accepted the drink.

"But..." he continued, "it has been one amazing ride." The man smiled down at her, and they clinked their glasses.

Their eyes stared deeply into each other's. Brown meeting grey. She shuddered at his intense gaze; it felt as if he was undressing her with those eyes.

She blushed in response.

"Hermione," he whispered, his voice low. He dipped his head, ever so slowly, eyes fluttering shut. His glistening lips parted. Oh, they looked...so soft.

She sighed, leaning forward towards the man, tiptoeing in an attempt to extend her height.

"Hermione..." His charming voice echoed in the faint distance, "You're such an amazing woman..."

"Mmmm..." She bit her lower lip. " _You're_ amazing..." She muttered.

"I-I don't think this is a really good idea."

"What?" Hermione continued to murmur under her breath. Her throat dry with anticipation.

"Hermionnneee..." The voice faded in and out, almost as if someone else was speaking to her.

"What?" She opened her eyes slowly. They moved lazily from left to right as she tried to find focus in her new space. Her brows furrowed in confusion. -And, out of nowhere, booming laughter filled the air and she quickly sat up, sniffing the room. "W-What is-What is this smell?" She jumped off her chair, desperately flailing her arms around to rid herself from the stench, "OH, MY GOD!"

George and Ron, who'd snuck into the office earlier trying to wake the witch up, bellowed over in laughter as they stood in front of the door, ready to bolt out as soon as Hermione came to her senses. "Hermione smells like a Bundimun!" The older one shouted. He was, also, the one who rolled the stink bomb under her desk.

"You two!" She huffed, quickly taking a deep breath and holding it in. She didn't want to breathe in anymore of the foul odor, and it also helped her to not scream out ' _you ruined my dream of Malfoy_!' -which she really wanted to do in her fit of anger.

Instead, with her (usual) wit and amazing speed, Hermione grabbed her wand. " _Petrificus Totalus!_ " The red headed duo froze immediately, their mouths hanging wide open from their nonstop laughter and their eyelids peeled back. " _Accio_ nose plug!" Two pops could be heard coming from George and Ron as their protection against the stink bomb was (so rudely, as George would later describe it) taken away. Hermione grimaced as the nose plugs came flying onto her hand, and she quickly dropped them onto the ground.

She turned her attention back towards the frozen men, or rather, boys, based on how they behave. "Three can play this game," she sneered. Hermione learned, through the years of working with Ron and George, that the only way to win is to beat them at their own game. "I was going to show this to you two at some point..." She spoke slowly while breathing through her mouth to minimize smelling the deathly scent. Hermione made her way towards her desk and pulled out a vial, filled with purple liquid, from the bottom drawer. "Maybe it's time to debut it. I spent many long hours working on this, and...Well -You'll just have to see this for yourself, hmm?"

The witch took her time walking towards the brothers. Her eyes darkened, and they resonated with anger as she approached them. She twisted the cork and pulled out the dropper. "Now... this is a pretty power potion." She enunciated each word, "And I haven't found the right formula to dilute it." She dipped the dropper into the mysterious liquid. "But it should be fine. I think a drop will do. So, who first? Any volunteers?"

Hermione looked at the brothers- first, at George, then over to Ron, who had beads of sweat rolling down the sides of his temple. Despite his apologies over the past several days, Ron had been quite a nuisance. The incident with the fireflies in her office, waking up late for the office visitation, and rudeness towards the poor Draco Malfoy all came to mind. And then, George, the instigator of all pranks -Okay, who was she kidding? Of course, it was going to be Ron!

"You've always been like a _dear_ brother to me." She tsked, shaking her head at the younger Weasley. "Don't go crying to Mummy, now, okay?" She pulled out the dropper and very carefully, applied one drop onto Ron's head.

They waited, but nothing happened.

"Hmm... shame. Well, I guess it wouldn't hurt to put it on you, too, then." She repeated the same action towards George. Hermione waited, her shoulders slumping just a tad as nothing came to, but her expression remained wicked.

"Now, I do believe Verity is working today. So, I'm going to go home, take a shower, and get rid of this awful stink." She smirked. "Do hang tight, boys."

* * *

Hermione arrived home just as an owl appeared, tapping gently at her living room window. She propped it open, allowing the majestic bird to soar in. The owl stuck its leg out towards her while turning its head away from the witch, hooting. She could almost see the repulsed expression on its feathery face as it breathed in her musk.

"Sorry," she muttered, untying the scroll from its leg and unrolling the parchment.

_Granger,_

_Should you be available tonight, you are welcomed to meet me at the Leaky Cauldron, where I am,_ _temporarily_ _, residing. I will be available starting at six in the evening._

_Draco Malfoy_

"Well, this is a surprise!" She smiled, rolling the letter back up. "Who'd expect Draco Malfoy to actually reach out to me?" She conjured her own set of writing materials and quickly scribbling a response. "Here you go, and a snack for having to deal with this horrid smell." She tied a new scroll back onto the owl's left leg and handed it a biscuit.

The owl hooted, nodding towards the witch and hopped out the window.

She checked the time. "Onto a shower, then."

* * *

Draco received her correspondence not too long after he sent his. _She's coming!_ His heart pounded as he read the letter, suddenly nervous. Why was he nervous? It was just Granger. Maybe it was because no one's ever stepped foot in his loft. He never, really, had anyone to invite. He patted his chest, urging his heart to stop freaking out. In the letter, she mentioned she'd be over a little after six, and it was fifteen til.

He scanned his apartment, looking around from room to room. He really needed to clean up. All his life, he used house elves to take care of the manual labor. Now that he was without one, he didn't really know where to start. The loft looked as if a tornado blew through it. Draco had a terrible habit of just throwing things wherever he felt like it. He would use it again, eventually, right? Why put it up when it was already out in the open? Anyway, it wasn't like he had visitors coming in and out of the house.

He picked up the clothes thrown all over the bedroom, looked around, and shoved them into the armoire, telling himself he would deal with it later. Clean bedroom? Check. Well, _relatively_. Draco, then, made his way over towards the kitchen, grabbing plates and empty bottles of liquor and tossing them into the trash bin. The sound of ceramic dishes breaking into hundreds of pieces caught him off guard. Were they not disposable? He peered in, then shrugged. A problem for another day. Kitchen? Check.

**6:00**

_Crap_. There was still so much to clean up! With haste, the wizard made his way into the living room and just as he was about to rearrange the couch cushions, he paused. Wait a minute-why was his doing this the slow way? What got into his head? All the thought of Granger coming over clouded his thoughts. Draco pulled his wand out and with a flick of his wrist, the living room was spotless.

A knock sounded at the door. _Granger_! His heart was in his throat as he tried to swallow it back down. His mind was, certainly, all over the place today. It wasn't just when he learned she was coming over, but just in general. For some reason, he couldn't stop thinking about the witch. Maybe he was just excited to show her his work. Or, maybe it was due to the lack of sleep.

Yeah, that was probably it. He was just high off caffeine.

_Knock. Knock._

Oh! Right, she was at the door. Draco shook his head, snapping back to reality. He took a second to clear his mind.

"Granger," He drawled, greeting her with a blank expression as he opened the door.

The witch stood before him dressed in an oversized red sweater, with a golden lion silhouette stitched in, that reached the middle of her thighs. Her top was paired with sheer grey leggings with ripped holes at the knees, and...were those _flip flops_? Draco stared at her feet then back at the witch. Did she not have any sense in fashion at all?

"Did you just wake up?" He pointed at her attire, baffled. "You're a mess."

She stared at him. "What?" Then she looked down at herself. "I look fine!" Then back towards Draco. "I look fine!" Her cheeks were tinted in pink as she tried to explain that she 'looked fine.' "Are you going to let me in, or are you just going to critique me all day?"

Draco opened the door further, "Please, don't make yourself too comfortable."

Granger rolled her eyes. "It's good to know your parents instilled manners in you." She stepped through, entering his living quarter. The witch looked around, rendered speechless as she entered the living room, then, taking a quick peek into the kitchen and dining room area, "Your sitting room is bigger than my entire loft!"

"This?" He scoffed, exhaling through his nostrils loudly, "This is the largest room Leaky Cauldron has. It's tiny compared to other places." He'd never admit to Granger that it was all he could afford. He didn't know how long he would be living here, and he needed to budget accordingly, otherwise, Draco would be living in a much fancier apartment. He motioned for the witch to take a seat as he went to fetch his artwork.

Draco made himself comfortable, sitting across from the witch. "You told me to take a break and find my passion."

"You actually listened?" She smiled a big smile.

"Oddly enough." He handed her the sketches. "I designed some concepts for Quidditch. Take a look."

Granger took the drawings and flipped through them, her brows furrowing, "I...I don't know what I'm looking at."

"What are you talking about? My drawings are detailed." He stood up and seated himself next to her on the sofa. "See-this one is an anti-fog goggle." He pointed at the sketch, gesturing at the lenses and the strap.

"What?" She belted out a laugh and covered her mouth, "Oh my gosh! I... I thought it was a bra!" Granger snorted into her hand, and it was Draco's turn to be embarrassed. "I thought this was the cup!"

"You know what -nevermind. You don't need to see the rest of it." He made a move to take his self-proclaimed masterpiece away from her, but she was a split second faster.

"No! No, I'm sorry," Granger tried her best to hold in another laugh, "These sketches are amazing. Really. They really-" She struggled to breathe as she held back her laughter; her body heaving in amusement. "They're really good." She stifled yet another laugh. "What's this one?" She stared at the artwork, "It looks like, hmm...shoes?"

Draco glared daggers at her for a moment. "Close. It's a foot peg. Do they really look like shoes? There's not even -Anyway, you slide the loop through the broomstick, and these ends-" He pointed at the pedals, "When you put your feet on it, they conjure a strap and locks them in at kickoff. This way, you'll have a stable support, and it'll prevent the user from slipping or losing grip."

Her laughter died down when he explained the concept. Granger kept looking between him and the artwork, surprised he'd given so much thought into the add-on.

"These ones," he flipped the page, "are anti-slip gloves. Pretty self-explanatory." Then the next page. "These are accessories. This is untangleable cape-" It was, quite literally, a triangle with a u-cut at the top. "It won't get caught at the end of the broom; it won't tear, and it won't drag against the wind, pulling at the player's neck."

Draco continued explaining each of his designs, and Granger listened earnestly.

"These are really something, Malfoy." She nodded once they circled back to the beginning. When he remained silent, doubtful of her comments, she piped up once more, "I mean it, Malfoy! You have some wicked ideas. I think with some tinkering -we need to figure out which spells work best with which item and make sure they don't deteriorate over time- and it'll be great!"

He sat up a little straighter on the sofa as he puffed out his chest with pride. "You think so?"

"I know so!"

A ghost of a smile crept onto Draco's, usually, expressionless face. "Good."

"Is that it?"

"What do you mean, _is that it_?"

"I mean, this is great!" She quickly defended herself. "But is there more news that you wanted to tell me? This is what you owled me for?"

"Pretty much."

"Okay, well," Granger set the sketches onto the coffee table, "I've got some news of my own." She stood up and made her way towards the kitchen.

Confused, Draco followed. "What news?"

She turned around; the lighthearted expression she wore while Draco explained his ideas was gone. "Do you want to have a seat?" The witch gestured towards the wooden chair in the dining room. He sat down as he continued to stare at her. "How about a drink?"

Wait -wasn't this his home? Shouldn't he be the one playing host?

"Pick your poison."

It felt as if she drew out the moment on telling him her news. Whether she was hesitant on how to tell him or just wanting him to feel a bit more at ease (with alcohol in his system), he wasn't sure. "Brandy will do."

"Sure." Granger pulled her wand from her satchel. " _Accio_ brandy. _Accio_ cup." The liquor cabinet opened and out came an opened bottle of brandy and a coffee mug from another cupboard. She twisted open the cap and poured a hefty amount of alcohol into the mug.

Draco stared in disbelief. "Is this how you drink at home? Out of a coffee mug?" He scoffed, "I take it Potter and Weasel never got around to teaching you how to serve someone alcohol. I bet they're too busy playing with their wands."

She shot him a glare as he made a jab at her best friends but said nothing when she handed him the mug. How odd. There was always something to say with her.

"Malfoy," she started, her voice filled with heaviness. "I've got some news."

"Yes, you've made it rather clear."

"Well," Granger poured herself a small glass and quickly downed the brandy. She scrunched her face, staring at the bottle. "This thing tastes awful!"

"Get with it, Granger!"

"Right -someone's been stealing money from you."

Her words came out in a blur but it was slow enough for Draco to catch every word. "Come again?"

"Someone's been-"

"No. No, I heard you just fine, but _how_?" He nearly slammed the mug down, unable to contain this new feeling. His heart was pounding again, but not because he was thinking of Granger, but the thought of someone having the galls to steal from him -it was absolutely preposterous! "I've had the same finance guy for years! He worked with my father before he worked with me."

"It sounds crazy, I know, but hear me out." She pulled out several sheets of parchment from her magical satchel. There was no end to that thing. "I stayed up all night running the numbers. It looked so unreal, I was sure I entered in the wrong things, but it's all here. The calculations are correct. Trust me-I can explain everything to you."

Draco fell back against the splat of the chair. "Bogrod Madoff. I can't believe it..."

Was he stealing from the Malfoy family this entire time?

 


	5. Know Your Limit

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, thank you MrBenzedrine89 for supporting me and proofing Empire! She, finally, finished Sex Ed and with awesome ending and epilogue, so be sure to give it a gander!
> 
> So, I wanted to point out that Bogrod Madoff character is actually a play on a real person named Bernard Madoff known for being an American fraudster and former stockbroker. He was part of the largest financial fraud in U.S. history!

 

"What?" Hermione sat up, startled.

She looked around, dazed and confused. Covering her was a soft comforter, and, apparently, she'd just woken up as well. An abnormally loud thumping sound echoed in her head, rattling her brain.

Despite her situation, London was beautiful today. The birds were singing in the sky, and the people outside in Diagon Alley chattered away happily. The gentle glow of the morning sunlight was harsh to her eyes. It took her a second before it dawned on her -this _wasn't_ her room.

She tried to make a move out of bed, but halted-Nope. Nope. If she moved anymore, she was going to vomit all over these nice sheets. Were these Egyptian cotton? Okay... So, she would just stay in this stranger's bed. Hermione, slowly, turned her head, enough so she could get a better view of the bedroom she resided in as she tried to figure out just who it belonged to.

The walls were tea green accented in an eggshell white with antique, wooden furniture neatly arranged throughout the room. A beautifully carved, large armoire sat directly in front of her. She squinted to get a better view. Were those clothes sticking out the bottom of the door?

Silver cushioned arm chairs sat next to both sides of the closet, and one of them seated a Draco Malfoy. He slouched in the seat, his legs extended out while an elbow was propped on the armrest as his head rested on the palm on his hand. His eyes were closed, and his chest rose slowly as he continued to slumber. Malfoy was still dressed in yesterday's clothing: a nice dark green button down and dark grey slacks.

 _Oh!_ She looked down -too fast, too fast! Hermione winced and groaned, taking a second to recuperate. Okay -she was still wearing her _awesome_ Gryffindor sweater.

Merlin, what happened last night?

* * *

"Malfoy?"

He opened an eye, peeking out under hooded eyelids, responding to the timid voice of Granger's. Draco fell asleep watching the witch. Not in a creepy way, of course -just making sure she slept fine throughout the night.

When she noticed his reaction, she continued, her voice scratchy and her throat dry. "What happened?"

"You got drunk," he drawled, staring at the hungover witch.

"I kept drinking? The stuff tasted awful."

"Yes, you said it again after. And, for the record, you don't _shoot_ brandy. You _sip_." Draco yawned, stretching his arms and legs.

"Seems like I still have a lot to learn... Anyway-did anything else happen?"

The corner of his lips twitched upwards. "Oh, lots."

A blush crawled its way up Granger's already tinted cheeks as she absorbed his retort. Judging by how she kept eye contact, Draco figured she wanted to know what happened but was too afraid to ask -or, maybe, she was just concentrating really hard on not throwing up. Either one of those were legitimate reasons.

"Well, for starters, you talk really, _really_ fast -almost like an auctioneer."

* * *

"Say, ' _she sells seashells by the sea shore_.' But five times fast."

"She sells seashells by the sea shore. She sells seashells by the sea shore! She sales seasells by the sea sore-Oh!" She laughed, covering her mouth as she messed up the tongue twister.

The two of them kept each other entertained, though there was more business to discuss.

"Okay," Draco chuckled. "Back on topic, now."

Granger bounced on the balls of her feet as she tried to explain to Draco her insight on what could have possibly happened with his financier. This was her third time attempting to describe it to him, but, just like before, she kept losing track of her thought process and insisted on starting over. Of course, Draco was no better in keeping her on topic.

"Right-o, Malfoy-o." She snapped her fingers, pointing at the wizard before her, her hand shaped as a gun. "You want to know how you got conned? Oh, well, I'll tell you how you got conned." Granger pointed her quill at him, smirking. Merlin, was she ever drunk. What was with the pointing her fingers at him? Was that some muggle custom? "Of course, this is all a theory. There's no way we would _really_ know unless we confront Boggart-Oh!" She snorted, "No, it's Bodoff, right? Yes, yes, Bodoff. Look at me, calling him a _Boggart_. I'm sure he looks like one though, not that we really know what a Boggart looks likes. _Riddikulus!_ " Hermione giggled as she held her quill and flung it around, making the _Riddikulus_ gesture.

"Granger -back on topic." He snapped his fingers at her face. Draco would have been more annoyed by her actions, but to be honest, it was rather entertaining. The level-headed, Gryffindor princess, Hermione Granger, was drunk. Off two shots of brandy. There was, definitely, a first for everything.

"Yes! Yes, yes, yes. What was I saying?"

"How I got conned."

"Right-o! You're so smart." She grinned at the blonde, her cheeks rosy from the alcohol. "Do you know what itemizing is?" Granger paused. The lack of response was suspenseful.

Draco shook his head.

"Well, lesson has begun!" She slammed her hand on the table, causing the man to flinch. "Do you know what itemizin-Oh, didn't I just ask that?" Granger cleared her throat, straightening her back, trying to look proper as she began explaining."Boggart, I think, comes to you at the beginning of the month, - _hic_ \- giving you a document saying, ' _this is how much we're going to spend this month,_ '" she lowered her voice, emulating how a man would talk. "And then, he gives you the number -say two - _hic-_ thousand galleons, will be spent on item A, then another two thousand is spent on item B and so on." She jotted down on a parchment that she pulled out while she was in the middle of talking. As if her illegible scribble would help clarify things. Ha. "You say, 'okay.' You sign the paper. The end, right?" Granger looked up a Draco, pausing for a moment. "But it's not the end! There's more!"

She threw her hands out above her head, throwing invisible confetti.

The witch laughed, for some reason finding her explanation funny. "Boggart, actually, takes a huge fraction of the money for himself, and whatever is remaining is spent on cheaper parts to build your items."

Draco chewed on his bottom lip, staring down at the parchment. It made sense, surprisingly. "Wouldn't that mean my products are of lesser quality?"

"Precisely. Fifty points to Slytherin!" She giggled once more.

His brows furrowed, an apparent frown etched onto his lips. "But we've been in meetings where the manufacturer designed a prototype with the items that were being purchased."

Granger shrugged. "Maybe Bugger cut the guy a deal or something. - _hic-_ I dunno."

* * *

"At least I was still helpful," Hermione gave Malfoy a shy smile after he finished recounting last's night episode.

"Yes, well, you certainly took your time."

"Did anything else happen?"

"Mmm..." He pinched his nose, pretending to be lost in thought. "Nope."

* * *

"Alcohol is amazing!" She hugged the bottle of brandy. "It's nasty, but it's amazing! I've never felt so energized! You know... You know I've had eight whoo- _hic_ -oole cups of coffee the morning of the N.E.W.T.s? That's _alot_ ofcoffee, and it didn't do anything but make my hands shake." She held out her hands towards Draco, giving him an example of what it would have looked like during her exam. "Do you think-Do you think if I had another shot, I'll be able to control time?" Granger stared at the bottle in wonder, sloshing the amber liquid around in its container. "It'd... It'd be like magic." Her eyes widened instantly, filling with childlike excitement.

Draco exhaled sharply through his nostrils at her comment. The thought of his financier embezzling money from him absolutely pissed him off, but having Granger around, being all stupid and silly, pushed all those thoughts to the back of his mind, as he found entertainment in her dishevelment. He took a tip of his brandy from the coffee mug. "Only one way to find out, Granger."

"Yea?" Her eyes glimmered.

It was clear the witch never experienced alcohol -or at least not to this extent. Aside from the obvious entertainment, maybe it was good for her, too. To let loose a little bit. Anyone who has met Granger from Hogwarts knew she usually had everything lined up just the way she wanted -that she held the reins a little _too_ tight.

"Go for it."

Plus, he would have the opportunity to see a side of Granger that even Potter and Weasley haven't had the chance to.

She went to twist the cap open, and instead of pouring a shot for herself like any normal person, the damn crazy witch drank straight from the bottle.

"Oy!" Draco flew off his seat, stumbling over to her, and pulled the liquor from her hand, spilling some onto the table and floor in the process. Alcohol was expensive, and it irritated Draco to know that Granger thought it was acceptable to just put her _lips_ on _his_ bottle. Wait. ' _Phrasing, Draco!'_

"What? Why?" She pouted, staring at him with pleading eyes. "The fun's just getting started!"

"Yes, well, I think you've had quite enough fun for tonight, don't you think?" he snarled, wiping down the lip of the bottle and recapping it.

"What do the _-hic-_ kids say these days?" With her pointer finger, she tapped on her chin, thinking. "Oh! The night is always young! Now gimme the bottle." She tried snatching the bottle away from Draco, but he quickly held the bottle high above their heads. She laughed as she fell forward onto the dining table, scattering Draco's sketches everywhere.

"Why don't we drink some water instead?" While he was enjoying (though, he would never admit it) her change in personality, Draco didn't want to have to deal with cleaning up after her. He already cleaned the house today, and he didn't plan for it to be on his agenda anytime soon. Plus, cleaning sick always made _him_ sick.

Draco made his way to the liquor cabinet to put up the brandy. He tapped the handles with his wand, locking them so the witch wouldn't try steal anymore sips (or gulps). When he turned around, Granger had already crept up behind him, and she stared deep into his eyes. "What?"

Her, previously, carefree expression was replaced with a more serious tone. She hiccuped, yet again. Her words slurred ever so slightly as the alcohol took a harsher effect on her. "I never got the opportunity to say thankew."

If anything, it should have been him thanking her -for reaching out to him in the first place and then following through with everything else. No, Malfoys were much too prideful. Draco would probably never utter those two words to the witch. Plus, she already had an ego the size of her hair.

"Thank you? What for?" He feigned disinterest while folding his arms across his chest.

"It's been on my mind for a while now."

* * *

"Ugh, I don't feel so good." Hermione groaned as she tried to slowly shimmy off the bed. She didn't realize, until now, just how awkward it was waking up in the morning in the same room with her childhood nemesis. Never in her life did she imagine this would happen. If only the fifteen-year-old Hermione could see this; she'd probably shriek.

"Yea, it's called a hangover," Malfoy drawled, looking at his fingernails.

"My head's spinning, my stomach hurts -Urp!" She lurched forward, her hands quickly covering her mouth as her cheeks puffed up. Unshed tears threatened to spill down her cheeks.

He jumped off his couch, quickly grabbing a trash bin and held it in front of the witch. "Do try to keep your food in rather than out? This is an expensive rug, after all." As much as he tried to hide it, mainly because he'd been in her boat before, he couldn't help but wear a look of disgust on his face as he watched her spill more of last night's content into the container. Draco looked down at the carpet, making sure none of the bits splashed out.

The tears came running down as she sniffled. Alcohol, even from last night, really burned coming back up. Hermione made a silent vow to never drink liquor again.

"Why don't I go make you a Cure-All potion? It'll help with your, uh, situation." He set the bin down once Hermione was through, and all that was left was her dry heaving.

She gave him a thumbs up, unable to provide a verbal response.

* * *

"- _hic-_ It's been yeeeaaars since I last saw you." She poked his chest, adding weight onto her pointer finger as she swayed forward. "Other than seeing your mug on the Prophet, that is. Do you know when was the last time I saw you?" Granger paused, staring at her finger that was still planted on Draco's sternum, wondering why she poked him to begin with. "It was - _hic_ \- during the trials."

Draco's heart stopped as the memories of his friends and family being sentenced to Azkaban came flooding back. He sucked in his breath and gritted his teeth. He tried so hard to keep those memories locked away. It was partly because of those thoughts that he drank himself to a stupor almost every single night. And now it flared in front of him like a siren by the very witch who helped send them there.

Anger bubbled deep within him, threatening to erupt. What was it to her to bring up these terrible memories? To brag about how she and her stupid friends made it out? How they ended up being the heroes and gaining all the glory? Because of them, he was stuck in this predicament. Without a home, without friends or family, without anyone to turn to. He was forced to learn how to make it on his own when the rest of the world's turned against him.

Draco was a second away from kicking the stupid witch out of his apartment -and see if he cared if she was able to make it home or not! But she spoke up once more, distracting him from his thoughts.

"It was because of - _hic_ \- you that me, Harry, and Ron are here today." She sat down with a plop onto the wooden floor, crossing her legs.

Draco looked down, then back up, noticing a chair only two feet away. Was the floor more comfortable? "What?" he asked, suddenly remembering her comment.

"You don't - _hic_ \- remember?" She glanced at him, a hurt look apparent on her face.

"No, I remember it like it was yesterday."

Granger laughed quietly, "Oh, oh, man, I'm... I'm really drunk right now, Dra- _hic_ -co."

His contempt towards the witch washed out the window as he heard her address him by his given name. Never did she ever call him 'Draco' to his face- it was always Malfoy and, if he recalled correctly, even Ferret one time. He tried to steady his heart, as it was beating wildly, telling himself she was drunk and unaware of her actions.

"I don't drink." She gulped. "I never drink. - _hic_ \- I don't know why I did it tonight. I was nervous coming over." Granger wrung the bottom of her sweater as she tried to explain herself. "Being around you, Malfoy..." Oh, there she went, back to just Malfoy. Yeah, it was just a slip of the tongue. "I'm not... used to it. We don't...- _hic_ \- We don't hang out. I know this is business, but it's odd. It's different."

"'Odd' is putting it lightly, Granger."

She chuckled once more, and his heart skipped another beat. "Indeed. You know you saved our lives?" The witch, finally, looked up after spending eternity fumbling around with her top.

Draco remained silent, his brows furrowing once more at her comment. This woman... This woman was just sending him through a rollercoaster of emotion tonight.

"When we were at your parents' manor, when your- when Bellatrix, when she asked whether Harry was actually Harry. You claimed you didn't know, _-hic_ \- sure, but looking back, I mean, Harry's 'disguise' wasn't the best." Granger gave the blonde a half-smile as she held up two fingers from each hand, giving him air quotes. "That... gave us a second chance, you know? A second chance to live. A second chance to beat Voldemort. Can you imagine what a _-hic_ \- _terrible_ world the rest of the us would be living in today had you given away our identity? You could have said it was us! I always knew you were good, _-hic-_ Malfoy. Even if the other two think otherwise."

He found himself staring at the witch in awe,and he quickly looked elsewhere. Anywhere but at her. He, suddenly, wasn't worth being in her presence. Did she always see the 'good' in him? Draco didn't have the heart to tell her the only reason why he chose to lie to his aunt was because he was a coward. When Bellatrix confronted him, all he could think of was: what if he got it wrong? What if it was just his luck for them to capture Harry Potter only for him to end up being a doppelganger? He had been terrified of disappointing his father... and even more so, Voldemort. After he failed to kill Dumbledore...No, he hadn't been willing to take the bet. Draco didn't do it out of the goodness of his heart; he did it because he was a coward.

And for some reason, even in her drunken state, Granger was still sharp as ever. She noticed his conflicted thoughts, though he tried desperately to maintain his usual facade. "It's why I approached you, ya'know, when I read about your situation in the papers. I couldn't live my life knowing you were in such a predicament, while the rest of us lived comfortably."

Draco clenched his jaw, still refusing to make eye contact with the insufferable witch.

"You deserve a second chance."

He pinched the bridge of his nose, shutting his eyes. What should he say? Was she waiting for him to respond?

"Thank you."

"Granger-" He couldn't hold it in anymore. The witch needed to learn the truth -that he was a coward, a no-good, rotten to the depths of Hell coward.

"-URP." Her eyes widened as her stomach gurgled loudly.

Oh shite, he knew the look she was giving him. It was the I'm-about-to-throw-up-in-your-face look.

She jumped up, landed flat on her feet and bolted to the sink in the kitchen, making it just in time before spilling out the contents of her stomach. The sound of regurgitated brandy bounced off the walls.

"Oh maan," Draco groaned, rolling his eyes at the woman hunched over the basin. Where was a house elf when you needed one? Though in a foul mood, he made his way over to the sick witch and pulled her massive hair back. While he wasn't a fan of Granger at the moment, he still chose to help her out rather than sit back and watch her upchuck whatever was in her stomach. He didn't need her to make even more of a mess. Of course, it's what he would tell her if she were to remember the events that transpired tonight.

"Get it all out, Granger." He patted her back, trying to comfort her as she sobbed into the sink. For a moment, he wondered if Potter and Weasley ever took care of her in this state. Probably not. Especially since the witch admitted to hardly drinking. Still, he felt a tad sorry for her.

Draco conjured a glass of water, setting it next to the woman. "It'll help you feel better."

She sniffled, "Thank you..." There was a pause. "Don't...Don't tell Malfoy what I told you tonight, okay? I don't know how he would take if it he was to know the reason behind why I'm helping him with his business..." She wiped her mouth with the sleeve of her sweater. "I don't want him to think it's all charity."

* * *

Hermione sat at the edge of the bed, her feet dangling. From the bedroom, she was able to hear all the commotion going outside, presumably in the kitchen where Malfoy offered to make her a hangover potion.

She felt a world of difference once she rid the remaining alcohol from her stomach. She reached for her wand, which Malfoy placed on the nightstand next to the bed, and magicked away the contents in the trash can. The least she could do was just clean after herself. Hermione was grateful for his care.

Not wanting to just sit around and wait, she made her way to the kitchen. Malfoy was already brewing the potion with the cauldron sitting atop a burning fire. He said nothing as she entered the room, concentrating on stirring the mixture and occasionally adding in extra ingredients.

"Smells nice." She broke the silence.

"The potion's scent is different with each person."

"You were always better than me at potions. I believe that was the one class where you scored higher grades." She sat herself down across from the wizard as she continued to make small talk. "You did beat me by only two points," Hermione paused. "But I think it's because Snape favored you over me."

"A win's a win," he said as a matter-of-factly. "And I was _always_ better than you at potions. Favoritism had nothing to do with it." Malfoy finally glanced up at her, noticing her disheveled hair. "How do you live with that?" He pointed at the brown nest. "A bird could live in that."

Hermione glared. "My hair is just fine, thank you very much." She patted her head. In an attempt to make a point, she ran her fingers through her hair only to get them tangled.

"Apparently your sense of fashion is _also_ fine." Malfoy carefully poured the bubbling blue liquid into a steel flask and set it atop a bowl of ice. "Let it cool a few minutes, then it should be good to drink." He poured the rest into small vials, setting them aside.

* * *

"Why won't it stop?" she groaned, clutching her stomach as she continued to stand over the sink.

"You did go a _little_ overboard with the drinking, Granger," he drawled, exhausted from holding her hair back.

It'd been over an hour since Granger started feeling sick, and while all that was left was dry heaving and a terrible stomachache, she insisted that more was to come out.

"I hate drinking!"

_Note to self -never offer Granger alcohol again._

Draco sighed, handing her another glass of water. "Drink more. You'll feel better soon."

The drunk witch complied, taking the cup and downing it quickly. Her eyes were glazed over as she looked at him, swaying back and forth as if the room was spinning. In her current state of mind, it probably was.

"Thank you for taking care of me." She managed to give him a smile.

Of course he had to take care of her. She was in his house, drinking his alcohol, and he was the one to egg her on, allowing her to take more. Draco didn't realize what a lightweight Granger ended up being, else, he wouldn't have allowed it to go so far.

It was, what, two shots and a few gulps? It wasn't even comparable to what he drank in an hour.

"Perhaps you want to lay down? You might feel better," he offered.

"I don't wanna go home."

"You... You don't have to go home."

"...Okay. We can go lay down." She tried to turn around, grabbing his arm as support. "Where do I sleep?" Granger made an attempt to walk but lost her footing, almost slipping and pulling him down with her.

"Ah-shit!" Draco grabbed her by her armpits, yanking her upright once more.

"Oopsies!" she giggled, leaning back against him. "It seems my feet don't know how to walk anymore."

The blonde rolled his eyes and gave a heavy sigh. "C'mon.." He shifted his weight, squatting down and easily scooped her up with an arm at the back of her knees, the other one grasping her arm from the back. Huh, Granger was much lighter than she looked. She appeared heavier with all that hair on her head, that was for sure.

"Wheee!" She laughed again, throwing her arms up in the air like a child.

"You can sleep on my bed tonight." He carried her into his bedroom, setting her gently onto the bed.

Her eyes were already closed as exhaustion quickly took over. "Good night, Draco."

* * *

"Is it safe to drink?" She looked at him, skeptical, while sniffing the flask. Spending time with Malfoy was one thing, drinking something he made was another. In the back of her mind, the trust wasn't quite there yet - though she did say he was a good person last night (not that she remembered).

The blonde rolled his eyes, taking a vial he set aside for a rainy day and quickly downed it. "I'm not about to poison _the_ Hermione Granger. Do you realize the kind of press I'll get?"

Hermione laughed, giving in, and took a few sips of the potion. And in an instant, the constant thundering in her head cleared away, and it was all sunshine once more.

She sighed, a content smile written on her face. She glanced over at the clock, 10:20. Luckily for her, it was a weekend, and she didn't have to go in for work- _Oh, holy crap!_ Hermione straightened, her eyes widened as panic replaced her prior expression. "Oh...no..."

"What?"

"I, uh, I did something really bad."

"Worse than throwing up in my house last night?"

The witch waved him off. "I'm being serious, Malfoy! I -I _really_ have to go." She hopped off the chair and gathered her belongings. "Thank you so much for taking care of me, Malfoy. I appreciate you. And- and for the potion, it tastes great. You're a wonderful potionsmith, and the artworks," she gestured to the sketches that were still thrown all over the dining table, "Are amazing. We'll talk more about finding manufacturers and the like, soon, but I really, _really_ have to go."

Without giving him an opportunity to respond, she Disapparated from the Leaky Cauldron and Apparated back in her office at the joke shoppe.

She had planned to go back after taking a shower, but when Malfoy's owl arrived at her apartment, she created an entirely new agenda for the evening, completely forgetting about the two boys.

Her wide, brown orbs stared at the two standing before her. While they haven't moved from the night before, their appearance, certainly, changed. "Uhm, good morning, boys." She spoke in a small voice, apologetic. " _Finite Incantatem!_ "

The two Weasleys, released from their petrification, slumped onto the ground with a loud thud. Ron, with trembling hands, wiped away the tears pouring out of his eyes as they were rendered unblinking the entire night. George, on the other hand, started to laugh quietly, amazed at her dedication.

"Blimey, 'Mione!" the older one exclaimed. He grabbed his head as he made an attempt to grasp his hair. George's expression changed completely when he immediately noticed there was nothing to grab onto. "Where's...Where's my hair, Hermione?" His brown eyes fixed on hers.

"Well..." she started, fiddling with her hand as she watched Ron feel his smooth head.

"Oy! 'MIONE." her best friend shouted. His face turned into a deep shade of red, almost comparable to his hair -had he any left.

"The potion," Hermione started, growing stiff. "It's a balding potion!"

George and Ron pointed at each other as they noticed the other's bald head.

"My luscious locks!" George whined.

"The balding potion was created by completely accident," she explained to the two. During the wet seasons, Hermione's hair seemed to have a mind of their own, growing frizzier and frizzier. In an attempt to rectify the situation, she tried to concoct an anti-frizz potion. Something, obviously, went wrong during her attempt to create the brew. Of course, Hermione being herself, wouldn't try a potion she's never created on herself. She took a pygmy puff from the store and brought it home. "And well, the rest is history." She shrugged. "Also, pygmy puffs bald? It's like a nightmare come to life. Don't ever do it."

"Where is it now?"

"George! This is not the time to ask 'bout the pygmy puff! I'm _bald_!" Ron shouted, pointing at his oddly shiny head. "How... How could you do this, 'Mione?!" It almost sounded as if he was sobbing.

"You threw a stink bomb in my office! It still smells!"

"Yes! And we were stuck in the office the entire night while... while you were out playing hookey!"

She glowered at the younger Weasley. "Well, revenge is a dish best served cold. Perhaps you'll learn to not bother me while I'm working."

"You were sleeping!"

"Staying up all night working on your finances for the store!"

"You were still _sleeping_!"

The witch fumed at his stubbornness. Yes, it was her fault for leaving the boys there overnight, but it wouldn't have happened if they could just grow up and leave her alone during work hours. "You intolerable, insufferable, unbearable...dolt!" Hermione stomped at the ground, her hands balling up in a fist as she controlled her anger. "Yesterday you apologized for being a git, and now you're being one again!" Tears welled up in her eyes. "Why can't you just appreciate me for all the hard work I've done all these years? And you wonder why the two of us didn't work out!" Her breathing was heavy as she yelled at him, not caring one bit that George was there to take in all the glory of his little brother being eaten alive.

The room fell into silence.

"Think about these past few years and consider what I've done for you before you yell at me for one mistake that I've made...when you've made many more yourself." Hermione steadied her breathing. "George-" She turned to the older one, "For what it's worth, you look stunning bald. I'll see you two on Monday."

 


	6. Business Etiquette

 

 

The next week, Hermione kept herself occupied, focusing mostly on writing and proofing documents for the joke shoppe. She kept her head constantly buried in books and paper; the scribbling of the quill and muffled laughter from customers were her only source of music.

She made a note, reminding herself each day before stepping into her office, to get as much work done, even if it meant to skip lunch. Hermione wanted to finish the day's work as quickly as possible to avoid anymore confrontation with Ron, who was still in a foul mood. George, on the other hand, was enjoying his new (lack thereof) hairdo, switching between crazy hats and silly wigs.

For the first several days after the balding potion incident, Ron skipped work. When Hermione inquired about it, George merely shrugged and said he was pouting away at the Burrow, drinking himself to a stupor. Molly would continuously yell at him, telling him to grow up: he wasn't a child anymore and to take responsibility. (George scoffed, "Ron and responsibility shouldn't be used in the same sentence.") Ginny would often find it entertaining, and egged on her brother, drinking alongside him when she wasn't spending time with Harry. She had her own reasons to drink.

"Honestly, though," the older Weasley started as he fumbled around with a toy (which looked way too much like Peeves), in attempts to fix it. "Ron needed a reality check. His head is always so far up his arse, he really needed someone to give him a ol' smack in the face. You did good, 'Mione." He gave her a pat on the back, reassuring her. "Don't ever feel back for Ron. Ah, shite! " The toy whizzed to life, laughing maniacally before spitting in his face and flying off into the crowd of customers.

Oh, and speaking of Harry, he managed to find time to visit her in the middle of the week. Of course, he was always too busy to hang out with her whenever she wanted, but when Ron was playing the drama queen role, Harry suddenly had all the time in the world.

A knock on the door sounded, and, with a wave of her hand, she unlocked the door. "'Mione," Harry greeted the busy witch.

She immediately tore away from her work to focus on her best friend. "Harry!" she squealed, a smile plastered on her face. It'd been quite too long since she's last seen him. "It's been a while!"

After their travels and upon their return home, Harry was recruited by Kingsley Shacklebolt and became an Auror. His work was tedious and often time consuming. When he wasn't away hunting down evil villains and maintaining peace, he was busy assisting his fiancée in planning their wedding.

"How goes things with you?" Hermione asked, pulling away from their brief hug, "or rather, how goes the _wedding_ planning?" She gestured towards the empty seat sitting in front of her desk and plopped down onto hers.

"Don't get me started," Harry groaned as he slumped into the cushioned armchair. "Do all women get this crazy when it comes to weddings?" A chuckle came from the witch as she conjured some water. "It's, like, Ginny isn't even Ginny, anymore. Like some witch just possessed her into a crazy...bridezilla."

"Oh!" She snorted, spitting out her water, "Please, for all our sake, don't call Ginny that."

The wizard ruffled his already messy hair, his scar showing ever so briefly. "She keeps asking which linen we should pick or which cake should we get -or what kind of flowers! What do I know about flowers. But when I give her my two knuts, then she yells at me and tells me I'm wrong!" Exasperated, Harry threw his hand up in the air. "It's like I don't even have any say in this wedding."

"Well, you don't."

An almost desperate laugh escaped him but was quickly ended as he realized Hermione wasn't joking. "Right," he changed the subject and cleared his throat, "Ron's been upset."

"Yes, I am aware," Hermione drawled, suddenly aware of his reasons for showing up to her work.

"Maybe you should apologize, 'Mione."

She glared at the Auror from across the table, frowning. "Or maybe not." While Hermione was, typically, the more reasonable one of the three, she planned to stand firm on the issue. Ron wronged her more than she's ever wronged him, and for some reason unknown, he always -just somehow- always got his way. If he was going to act like a child, then so be it. She'd play his game.

"Don't stoop to his level." Harry sighed, slumping his shoulders. Both his best friends were stubborn and hardheaded.

"Don't you dare lower me to his level," she snapped back immediately.

"You two are best friends, 'Mione. You can't stay mad at each other forever, and you know Ron. He's never going to see the other side of things unless you talk to him first."

Hermione rolled her eyes and picked her quill up- a hint to Harry she was through with the conversation. "Just... give me a few more days. It's been so peaceful here without him." He looked at her, suspicious, and she quickly added on, "and then I'll go talk to him!"

A smile found its way onto Harry's face. "Thank you. You're always the best, 'Mione."

* * *

Draco found himself looking out the window pretty often. He didn't want to admit it, but he kind of missed the crazy witch's presence. She said she would owl him, but it'd been near a week, and not a single word had been exchanged.

Seriously, what would be keeping her so busy at the joke shoppe? What could possibly be more important than helping him out right now? At this very moment?

He was so tempted to send her an owl, or even a howler, demanding her attendance. But, would that be too desperate? He reached out to her last time, and now, it was her turn to send the correspondence first. Yes. He was going to be playing this kind of childish game with her.

Surprisingly, much of his time was spent debating with himself whether or not he should message Granger, and the remainder of his free days were spent in an attempt to rekindle things with a long time friend, Blaise Zabini.

It'd been years since Draco last spoke to the man, not since before the War ended.

While the Zabini household upheld the long standing belief that purebloods were far superior to half- or mudbloods, didn't choose sides during the war and remained neutral. They were supremacists; Blaise would always remind Draco when he found out about his Dark Mark, not murdering low lives.

After the Dark Mark was forced onto him, things between Blaise and Draco changed. As time passed, they hung out less and less, and eventually, his friend fell from the face of the Earth. It wasn't by choice, Blaise knew Draco's true nature, but was distant due to the influence of his mother, Vernonia Zabini.

She abhorred Death Eaters, looking down on them as 'no good attention grabbers.' It didn't matter to her whether she'd known Draco for a year or ten. As soon as Lucius Malfoy was outed for being a follower of the Dark Lord, all communication was cut from the Zabini household. Even hanging out at Hogwarts was limited.

Getting back in touch with Blaise wasn't going to be an easy stint. Draco would have to get through to Vernonia before he could reach out to the younger Zabini.

*(*)*(*)*(*)*

The first day Draco showed up to the Zabini manor, he carried a small bouquet of river vernonia flowers. With a deep breath, he knocked on the door. A moment passed before the door opened, and a wrinkly old house elf squeaked, "Master Malfoy, how may I help you?"

"Wonkey-" He glanced down, "I'd like to speak with Vernonia, please."

The house elf bowed and closed the door. From the other side, a loud _pop!_ could be heard as the elf, presumably, Disapparated to find his master.

A minute later, the door opened once more and out came a beautiful witch. For a moment, Draco forgot how to breathe. While he'd seen her plenty of times as a child, playing in the manor, he always forgot how alluring the woman was. Despite her age, her appearance was youthful; if she wasn't famous for her good looks, she would have, easily, been mistaken for someone in their late twenties. But, she carried an air of wisdom about her; it showed in her dark eyes as she stared at the blonde before her. Her mouth, supple and small, were pursed, unhappy at the unexpected visitor.

Draco, visibly, gulped. He knew her opinion of him. She made it very clear his fifth year at Hogwarts during a Hogsmeade visit, and since then, he tried to avoid the woman as much as possible. But, he _really_ needed Blaise. It was worth the confrontation. He cleared his throat, holding the bouquet of flowers out to her. "Missus Zabini," he started, his voice cracking ever so slightly, nervous. "I, uh, I brought you some river vernonias."

She stood still as she stared down at the white flowers.

"Because your, uh, name is a flower." As if it wasn't obvious enough.

"How charming," Vernonia drawled. "Are you going to a funeral?" Her arms remained folded across her chest, unentertained.

There weren't many people who made Draco nervous, but if there was a list, Vernonia Zabini would be near the top. Her look of disapproval screamed at the blonde as her stared down at him. The witch wasn't physically taller than him, but her presence was so foreboding, it made him feel smaller.

"No, they're for you?" He furrowed his brows, obviously missing her sarcastic tone.

With a sigh, she snatched the bouquet from him. "What do you want, _Malfoy_?" She pronounced his name with the utmost disgust.

"I'd like to see your son." Merlin, it sounded like Draco was trying to court Blaise. He should have worded it better.

She arched a single brow. "You'll have to do much better than...this." She lightly shook the bouquet of flowers, gesturing to it, and dropped them onto the ground, unwanted. "Have a good evening." Vernonia gave Draco a brief curtsy before walking back into her home, slamming the door on the dumbfounded wizard.

*(*)*(*)*(*)*

Maybe it was because she feigned disinterest towards her potential suitors that had them crawling to her at her beck and call. It really felt as if he was trying to court the Zabinis.

He stood in front of the Zabini manor for the second day in a row. Never in his life had he ever had to try so hard to get approval to see and hang out with another twenty-one year old man. What in the world was Blaise doing anyway? Couldn't he decide for himself whether he wanted to see Draco or not?

The blonde huffed and puffed, pacing from side to side as he tried to recount his plan.

At some point during the evening last night, he remembered Blaise mentioning once or twice that his mother was quite the wine connoisseur, even earning herself a prestigious title of a sommelier. Nothing less for a Zabini, of course.

He knocked on the door and, once more, Wonkey opened the door. "Master Malfoy," he bowed, "how may I serve you tod-"

"-Vernonia."

Another bow. Another _pop!_ sounded behind the closing door.

She appeared once more, an obviously annoyed look on her face. "Malfoy," she greeted him with a monotone voice.

"Missus Zabini," Draco bowed. Why did he bow? He didn't need to bow, this wasn't some Yule Ball dance. "Today, I brought you a basket of England's finest wine from Camel Valley."

Interested, Vernonia accepted the basket, and pulled a bottle out, inspecting it with care. Silence fell between the two as relief nearly washed over Draco. Perhaps this is where she'll be welcoming him with open arms, accepting him, once more, as one of Blaise's best friends.

"Well, it seems you know what good wine is, but-" she placed the bottle back into the basket, "-I can't drink this wine. It's dated from the nineteen seventies." The witch nearly snorted at the comment, "wine, if stored properly, can last a few years and still taste beautifully, but a bottle from thirty years back will be sour, impossible."

"At least you can have this sitting on your collection," Draco remained hopeful. "It was a rare find."

The woman agreed, "A rare find, yes. What would have been rarer was if you found the crowned wine from the same year. It was named best wine of its time." She handed the basket to Wonkey, who stood behind her. "Do your research before you come over next time?"

Once again, a rejected Draco was found standing in front of the Zabini manor. He groaned, throwing his head back, his hand palming his face, "I have some nice cheese, too."

*(*)*(*)*(*)*

Many would have already given up their attempt to woo the woman, but Draco was determined. Not only because he needed Blaise, a man who he trust, but because he (secretly) missed the guy.

Exhausted, he stood in front of the Zabini manor, again, hoping the third time would be the charm. He lifted a tired hand to knock on the door, but before he had the opportunity, the door swung open, and she was there, staring down at him with disapproving looks, making him feel small once more.

"Missus Zabini," he greeted, bowing. Damn it, he really needed to stop doing that, otherwise it was going to become a nervous habit.

"To what do I owe this...pleasure?"

"I thought a lot about what you said yesterday, and today, you won't be turning me down." He smirked, gaining back his Malfoy confidence. Draco waited for a response, but she merely waited. Don't keep a woman waiting too long, now. "I managed to get a reservation at tonight's, conveniently timed, wine tasting event at the Singing Serpent."

There it was: her interest was piqued.

"I would certainly love a wine connoisseur-"

"-Sommelier," she corrected.

"Sommelier, as yourself to be my plus one for the evening."

Vernonia was, definitely, curious. "what kind of wine?"

"Some notable wines range from Pernod Ricard to Treasury Wine Estates."

She gasped, " _Pernod Ricard?_ " Blush forming on her cheeks.

Jackpot.

Her demeanor changed completely as she invited him into the manor. "I need to powder my nose, and we will head out." She moved with haste, almost flying upstairs towards her quarters.

Draco was left standing in the middle of the entryway foyer. Vernonia always had great taste in industrial design, purchasing only from the best brands. The manor, much like how he remembered as a child, was decorated in minimalism. Artwork from famous wizards, such as Picasso and Monet, hung on the walls. He stared at a cubism self-portrait, and the eyes blinked out of sync. Ugh, they always creeped him out. Draco couldn't understand the value in weird looking art, but to each their own, probably.

"Let's go now."

His attention diverted back towards the older witch as she glided down the steps. She dressed in her best gown, her hair elegantly braided, and subtle makeup painted on her face. Of course, Vernonia had to look her best whenever she head out, perhaps even more so with a tainted wizard such as a Malfoy. Or maybe she was single and was on the prowl again. Draco shooed away the thoughts as she approached and held out an arm towards the witch. "Shall we?"

They Disapparated from the manor and Apparated in front of the famous Singing Serpent. Surrounding them, were other witches and wizards of the socialite community. Many of them ignored Draco. While he was still shunned in their community, they were used to his presence as he, often, attended events such as these. Occasions, like these, were much more difficult for Draco to get in. It used to be that he was at the top of the list, but these days, he waited for days and sometimes even bribery didn't work. Luckily for him, though, Millicent Bulstrode was the head chef of the restaurant.

"Welcome Mister Malfoy, Missus Zabini -if you'll please follow me, I will take you to your table."

The next few hours were filled with Draco and Vernonia talking about wine. He mostly listened, while consuming a generous amount of red wine, as the witch explained how different wine were made differently, how one grape's flavor could vary depending on the state it was harvested and the weather that year. For Draco, it went in one ear and out the other.

"Oh, oh, there is he- Pernon Ricard!" The older woman almost jumped in glee as the famous winemaker made his rounds at the table. "Draco, be a dear and give your seat to him, why don't you?" She eyed the blonde as Ricard approached their table. Draco nearly protested, but she interjected, "Why don't you go back home and see if Blaise is there?"

"Really?" His eyes widened. He could kiss her!

*(*)*(*)*(*)*

"Well, well, if it isn't the _infamous_ Malfoy," Blaise stood in front of the grand stairs as Draco Apparated back into the Zabini manor. A smirk sat plastered on the half-Italian man's face as he was finally able to reunite with his friend.

"It has been quite some time, Blaise." The two of them briefly shook hands. "Or should I be calling you Zabini, now?"

They moved into his bedroom, Blaise sitting on his bed as Draco made himself comfortable on a beanbag. He scanned the room, save for a few things, nothing much changed. The room was adorned with Slytherin memorabilia, proud he was sorted into the house despite the unfortunate history it now beared.

"How were you able to convince Mother to let us hang out again?" Blaise pulled a Quaffle from under his bed, juggling it in his hands for a moment before tossing it over towards Draco.

The blonde smirked, catching the ball with one hand, feeling the familiar feel of its leather. "Took her out on a date."

"What?" The Italian looked taken aback at the comment.

"The only way to get a woman to do what you want is to woo her first," Draco gave his own friend his signature smirk, tossing the ball back.

Blaise blanched, smacking the ball onto the ground. "That-You didn't!" He jumped off his bed, staring at the comfortable blonde lounging on his beanbag chair. "That-" He didn't even know how to begin his sentence, "that's my _mum_!" He reached for the Quaffle once more and chucked it at Draco as he burst out in a belly-aching laugh: something he hadn't done in years.

In almost an instant, the two of them fell back into a groove, like any old friends would, as if no time had passed between them at all.

"So," Draco started, spinning the Quaffle on his pointer finger. Blaise threw wads of paper at his friend, trying to knock the ball off balance. "I need your help."

The Italian rolled his eyes. "Of course, you do. Your name wouldn't be Malfoy if you didn't come here without reason." While his statement seemed harsh, a faint smile was still written on his face, secretly happy. After all these years, Blaise was still the one Draco would seek out in his time of need. "What's it?"

Elated at his willingness to help, despite the years of silence, Draco jumped right in, "So... here's the plan."

* * *

Tonight was girls' night.

Hermione convinced her two closest girl friends to head over to her apartment for some wine and girltime. During her talk with Harry, she may or may not have let slip she'd been hanging out with Luna and Ginny during her free time, instead of giving the honest answer which would have had Harry interrogate Hermione to no end.

Before the girls showed, Hermione managed some swift cleaning. Her home was never messy, but it could never be too clean for guests. A few waves of her wand, and everything was spotless. A nod of approval came from her as she made way to the kitchen, pulling out a newly purchased red wine from the cabinet. She glanced at the bottle, reminding of her drunken incident at Malfoy's a week ago. Though, she _did_ swear off alcohol, wine was something she was a bit more accustomed to.

When she was younger, while spending the holiday's at her parents, she was, on occasion, allowed to take a few sips of wine here and there. It was her father's idea; perhaps the bitter taste of the alcohol would deter her from any underaged drinking, preventing any sort of 'teen pregnancy.' Her mother would always reprimand him for thinking of Hermione as a sort of potential harlot, but then again, he did always go to the extremes.

Hermione pulled out three bordeaux glasses, setting them on top of the counter when her fireplace roared to life. Luna was the first to step through, and she greeted Hermione with an airy smile and a high-five, something she recently learned while watching something called tellyvizzin. "Dean Thomas showed it to me," she said. "We've been dating for the past two months."

"What?" Hermione blinked, shocked at the news. "Does Ginny know?"

"Know what?" The redhead asked, stepping through the Floo, brushing off any powder that stuck to her clothes.

"Dean and I are dating," Luna stated as a matter-of-factly.

"Oh," Ginny laughed. "I set them up. Don't worry." She handed Hermione a container of Molly's best cooking. Her mouth watered, remembering she'd forgotten to eat lunch today. "Have at it, Hermione. They're delicious. Do you want any, Luna?"

"Oh, no, thank you." She looked around the apartment though she's been invited over several times. "Father told me, if I eat past ten o'clock, the nargles will come out with steal my teeth, and I quite like them."

Hermione snorted at the comment. Luna never failed to keep them entertained with her imaginary creatures, though, she did have to hand it to Luna for discovering new beasts. After the war, Luna spent some time traveling in search of the crumple-horned snorkack, determined to prove their existence. Though her search for them turned empty, she didn't return home without newly documented creatures.

As they gathered around the dining table, the girls picked up their conversation from Luna's dating life with Dean Thomas, ("He's a wonderful kisser," she smiled dreamily, recounting their first kiss to the other two in detail.) to Ginny's wedding planning.

"It's not that difficult!" She frowned, her pointer finger poking at the wooden table. "Harry complains about the colors looking the same, but they're quite different! And when I told him to pick the best color -I hinted at the one I like - he still picked the wrong one!" She huffed, irked at her fiancé's lack of ability to choose proper colors. "He can't get a _damn_ thing right!" Ginny paused, looking over towards the brunette as she took a sip of her alcohol. She'd been pretty quiet the entire evening. "So, Hermione-"

Hermione froze. _Oh, no_. The look on Ginny's face said everything. She wanted to know what was going on in her life, and Hermione was the worst when it came to lying. "I've been working," she'd say while taking long sips of her wine, hoping it would buy her enough time to think of something to change the subject. Oh, but now Ginny was giving her that look. Hermione groaned, slumping further into her seat as she cradled her wine glass. "I've been helping Malfoy with his business issues."

Even Luna looked surprised at her confession.

"I-" Hermione pouted. She didn't want to tell them, at least not now, not when everything was still up in the air. They haven't even really _worked_ on anything, yet. "I just...I just wanted to work with someone as an equal."

"You think _Malfoy_ would be someone to see you as an equal?"

"He's not..." she started, unsure how to answer Ginny's question. "He's different, Ginny. The Malfoy I've seen, he's... so broken, not like the Malfoy we knew back at Hogwarts. Life... has been so difficult." She chewed at the lip of the wine glass, carefully thinking about her answer. "And when I came to him with a possibility of starting over. Oh, Ginny, you should have seen it. He was so excited." She stole a glance over towards her friend, who grinned widely. "Don't ... Don't look at me like that!" Hermione's cheeks quickly reddened, surely from the alcohol.

"Malfoy has never been my favorite," the redhead confessed. "But he is pretty good looking, isn't he?"

"I'm not doing it for the looks, Ginny!"

"But you do admit he's good looking?" She cooed, describing Malfoy. "Have you ever just... stared into those piercing grey eyes of his? Oh... and those luscious blonde locks. I bet they're so soft. Merlin, I wish I could run my fingers through the, just once!" Her cheeks grew red, too. "Do you think Harry would care?"

"Yes!" Hermione laughed, gasping for air. "Merlin, Ginny! If you're going to think about another man, perhaps you should put a pause on your wedding."

The younger witch smirked. "I still love Harry very much, but a night of frivolity would be exciting! Before I settle down?" She clasped her hands together, excited at the thought, though she would never actually go through with it.

"You reignited fire in the man who's lost all hope in the world," Luna spoke softly, late to the conversation as she peered into the kitchen. "Do you know you have weetimorousbeasties wandering around in your house? How is your sex life?"

* * *

"Thank you so much for inviting me out, Mister Malfoy."

"Please, Bogrod. Mister Malfoy is my father. Draco will do." He was back at the Singing Serpent restaurant, though this time it was devoid of people save for him and two others.

When the doors opened, Draco and Bogrod Madoff stepped through. Blaise was on the other side, playing waiter, and he wasn't happy about his role. While informing Blaise of his plans, Draco, even purposefully (for his sake) left out the bit of information about taking his mother to the restaurant, and possibly even facilitated in finding him a new step-father. How many would it make now? Twelve? The woman was a snake!

"If you'll please follow me," Blaise drawled. A man of his stature should not be playing waiter. It was way below his pay grade. He led the two men to their table, right in the middle of the restaurant.

"This restaurant is amazing!" Madoff looked around, impressed, as he took his seat. "How did you manage to book the entire restaurant?"

Draco smirked, "How else?"

The older man looked at Draco with an immediate understanding. Well, of course he could book the restaurant, he was a Malfoy, after all. But in actuality, he pawned Blaise off to Mellicent for a date and maybe a little more. Of course, that tidbit was, also, withheld from Blaise.

Madoff glanced at the menu, his eyes scanning the numbers quickly.

"Choose anything to your desire," Draco offered.

"That is mighty generous of you, Draco," the man set the menu down, motioning to the waiter.

Through clenched jaws, Blaise complied. "What can I get for you tonight, sirs?"

Madoff ordered first. "I'd like the grilled blue lobster with greek vegetables." Of course he would order the most expensive dish on the menu.

* * *

"I've... actually been thinking about him more." Hermione confessed, now on her fourth glass of wine. The girls have long since moved from the dining room to the living room, lounging comfortably on her couch. "I don't know what it is. Fifteen year old me would be terrified to know I'm thinking these thoughts." She muttered into her glass, blowing condensation onto the glass.

Luna smiled. "You are like two characters in a book. You, a princess, loved and cherished by all, and the other, a man who was mistaken as evil and wronged by society but has a heart of gold. You two shouldn't be together; society would never allow it, but the readers will ship you two together, forever."

"What ship?" Ginny pipped up, confused.

* * *

"It was a wonderful meal, Draco. Thank you." Madoff expressed his gratitude while dabbing his oily lips.

"Certainly," Draco started, setting his utensils onto the table. Regardless of circumstances, he was always raised to be prim and proper, especially at the table. "Though, before we part ways for the evening, I'd love to know how our finances are doing right now." He glanced up at the man, who nearly choked on his water.

Madoff cleared his throat, thumping his fist with his chest. "Yes, yes. It's going well."

"Oh?" He tilted his head, briefly looking over at a bored Blaise before shifting his attention back onto the man. "Please, do elaborate."

"Well, _ahem_. Excuse me." The older man stalled, biding time. "It is a shame some of the businesses are closing, but all of our purchases are in order. You've seen the prototypes-"

"Yes, well, I've had someone else tell me otherwise." Draco stared as the wizard sitting before him grew more and more nervous by the minute. Silence filled the room for a brief moment before the blonde snapped his fingers. Blaise, very loudly, grunted as a response, walked over and handed him a thick stack of paper. "I actually had a long discussion with them. They told me _everything_ is out of order. From purchasing to manufacturing to production."

The man appeared baffled. "That's nonsense!" He dabbed at his face with the napkin. How odd. He looked very much like Burbage the day he announced he didn't want to be Draco's partner anymore. Another fat, sweaty pig. Perhaps there was a trend going on. "The numbers that, that _someone_ looked up must be wrong! I'll even do the math for you! Who are you going to belie-"

Draco held a hand up, silencing Madoff from speaking anymore. "Where's the money, Madoff?" His voice was cold, terrifying. Draco's stare remained unwavering, unnerving the blubbering man.

"I don't know what you're talking about." Madoff shook his head. The fat of his neck jiggling side to side as he continued to deny everything. "I don't know what money you're talking about. I haven't stolen anything from you!"

" _Stolen_?" He glanced over towards Blaise, a smile written across his lips. "I never said anything about _stolen_ money. But I do have to thank you now, I guess, for confirming my suspicions." Draco leaned forward, "Where is the money- and you know what? Go ahead and tell me who you're working for, too."

"You're being ridiculous, Draco."

A sigh escaped his lips. Draco dabbed his lips with his napkin, folding and setting it onto the plate. He stood up slowly, his eyes never leaving Madoff's. "One. Last. Chance." His spoke slowly, his voice coming out almost sing songy. When nothing other than more stutter came out from his fat lips, Draco gripped the edge of the table, and with one swift motion, flipped it to the side, sending expensive china and glasses shattering onto the ground.

Blaise, standing directly behind Draco, rolled his eyes. He was enjoying it too much, playing bully. Granted, it'd probably been awhile since Draco has been a part of any action.

And it wasn't so much as Draco losing his temper as it was his way at power play. It was silly and potentially expensive if it didn't work, but it was worth the try. He wasn't going to sit on his ass anymore, twiddling his thumb, waiting for things to magically fix itself.

With one quick stride, Draco stepped towards the still-sitting man and grabbed his collar by the fistfull, yanking him straight up from his seat. Madoff's short, stubby legs dangled in mid-air. He flailed in an attempt to struggle free. From the corner of his eyes, he noticed Madoff's attempt at pulling out his wand to counter Draco's threats, but Blaise was quicker, yanking the weapon from the man's pudgy fingers.

"What are friends for?" The Italian twirled the wand around his lengthy fingers. It's, exactly, what Draco wanted him here for, a failsafe if nothing else. His mood, finally, lifted as he was able to participate in what little action there was.

"I could _Avada_ you right here, right now," Draco seethed between his teeth as he pulled out his wand, pointing it into the man. "Tell me, or you can kiss your family goodbye."

The man guffawed; his desperate attempt at a laugh as he struggled to say, "If you kill me now, you'll be seeing yourself in Azkaban."

"My family is gone," Draco hissed, his voice dangerously quiet now. "Most of my friends are also locked away, suffering the Dementor's Kiss at this very moment. The ones that are free don't talk to me anymore. My businesses are failing. My life is suffering-so spending me off to Azkaban would be a sweet, sweet relief from this miserable hell that's my life." He pushed his wand into the man, hoping to secure the threat.

"Okay! Okay, okay," Madoff wheezed, hyperventilating as soon as he felt the wand touch his neck. Draco dropped him, and the man fell into the floor, his knees too weak to support his heavy proportions. "I've been taking the money, but I don't even keep most of the share." Draco rolled his eyes as Madoff tried to make himself to be the victim. "The majority of the money goes to an unknown accomplice. They actually reached out to me, and they told me to steal as much money, that would go unnoticed, as possible from the Malfoy funds and transfer it to an account in United States." He swiped at his forehead as word vomited out of his mouth. "And once a month, they'll send me a letter, telling me where to find the port key. It takes me to the States and there, I transfer the money. I've never met the man!"

"Why would you agree to it in the first place?" Draco glanced over towards Blaise, who also listened with interest.

Madoff hesitated once more, and Draco pointed his wand between his eyes.

"I was an investor for an up and coming club, but I was _tricked_ into having an affair. They ended up getting photographic evidence of me fooling around with him-" Draco's eyebrows shot up. "And they threatened to send the photos to my wife and children!"

"Classic blackmail," Blaise chuckled.

"Right, then," Draco tucked his wand securely back into his pockets. "You have everything recorded?" He turned to his friend who answered with a nod. "You'll be paying for everything there tonight. Mmmm..." He pinched his chin between his fingers, rubbing his thumb against his short stubbles as he failed to shave that morning, "From booking out the restaurant to the damn expensive food you ordered, and oh- yes, for the damages, too." He grabbed a plated from another table and dropped it onto the ground.

The two younger men turned to leave the restaurant, satiated. But before they were able to step outside, Madoff, much to his dismay, squeaked out, "Why?"

Draco turned, squinting his eyes at the man, "Well, my _dear_ Madoff, I'm broke as fuck."

 


	7. Prototyping Relationships

 

Blaise stumbled through the fireplace, kicking soot all over Draco's wooden floor as he rubbed his face, especially his cheeks, with a look of disgust and contempt melding together. He glared at the blonde sitting on the couch, a book clutched in his hand. Draco returned the glare, his eyes looking down at the mess the Italian made as he stepped through the Floo, uninvited.

What if he had a woman here? He was just going to intrude like that and ruin everything? "Oy, ever heard of knocking?" Draco set the book down next to him, stretching his legs. As much as he feigned annoyance towards Blaise, he would always welcome the man with, metaphorical, open arms.

"It's a floo, Draco," Blaise chided, "How the Hell do you expect me to knock?" With a quick wave of his wand, he cleared the mess, restoring the fireplace to its original state and made his way to the liquor cabinet, fetching himself a glass of scotch. He chose to ignore Draco's comment.

"Oh. Right." Draco scowled, obviously irate at himself for being bested by his own mistake.

"Why would I knock anyways?"

"What if I were in the middle of a shag?"

"Are you in the middle of a shag?"

Draco rolled his eyes. "Obviously not." And Merlin, was that ever depressing. "How was your date?" He craned his neck to look at his friend as he poured a hefty amount of liquor. A smirk danced across his lips, noticing the scowl Blaise made at his question. "That bad, huh?"

"What do you think? A date with Millicent _fucking_ Bulstrode. What-" Blaise took a gulp of the scotch, his face grimacing as it burned down his throat, "-do you _fucking_ think?" Another glare was shot over towards Draco as he poured more.

"That scotch's expensive!" he protested. What was it with everyone and trying to swallow his costly liquor?

"Right-I forget, my _dear_ Draco, you're 'broke as fuck,'" Blaise snorted as he sat down on the loveseat adjacent to his friend. "With what you're putting me through, you ought to be _buying_ me the drinks, instead." He slumped against the back cushions, his head sinking into the plush. "I swear, Millicent got bigger since Hogwarts -ever since she started working at the Singing Serpent. You should have seen her!" He gestured using his arms to explain the magnitude of just how big the female Slytherin was. "And her face-" Blaise shuddered as he took another gulp, "looks like a fucking troll."

The blonde chuckled.

"I'm serious! Swear her mother actually shagged one." He lightly smacked his face, rubbing his cheeks once again. "Blimey, she was so big." He shuddered, recounting earlier events. "I had to fend her off with a slab of bacon, otherwise she'd be chomping on my meat next!"

Draco, who had been sipping on his own glass of scotch, spat out his drink, spilling it all over the coffee table and laughed loudly. "Fucking Merlin's beard, is she that bad?" He clutched his stomach as it cramped from his hard laugh. Blaise answered with a snarl, glaring at the blonde. "Here's to… ahahah... taking one for the.. mhmmahaha…. team," he said in between laughs as he held his glass up in the air, though Blaise chose to ignore his friend's toast, and downed the rest of his drink.

While Draco joked about Blaise's unfortunate (and forced) dates with Millicent, he truly appreciated his longtime friend for his unwarranted sacrifice. Since Blaise's reappearance in his life, some color seemed to have returned in his, otherwise, black and white life. He appreciated the simpleness of goading a childhood friend about setting him up with a man-meat craving troll.

"Well," Draco started, setting the glass back on the table and magicking away the splattered alcohol. "You're welcomed to hide here. Bulstrode doesn't know where I live, so you should be fine for the time being."

Blaise kicked a leg up on his knee, crossing it, making himself a little bit more at home. "Where are you headed?" he asked, noticing his friend's sudden advance to the coat rack near the door.

"To visit a certain witch." Draco slipped into a heavy peacoat. The days grew shorter and colder as winter approached, but it was his favorite time of the year. When it snowed, it always reminded him of his younger days, before Hogwarts. Before Voldemort. Before his family's imprisonment, when they were still a family. A sad but unforgettable memory. As he was about to step out into the hall, Draco turned back towards his friend, adding, "Though, do remember: a snake will always find her prey." He shot Blaise a wink, closing the door -but not before hearing the Italian yell out 'sod off!'

He chortled to himself, pulling his coat closely around his frame as he descended down the stairs, passing Tom, the Leaky Cauldron manager, who busily swept the ground floor. The bald man eyed Draco as he walked by, unnoticed, with a peculiar look on his face. The blonde was great at ignoring those who didn't deserve his attention, and even after all these years, he still managed to keep a blank face while he was out and about. Much like his father. But lately, due to various events, each time his mind wandered onto Blaise's situation - because one date wasn't enough to justify all the broken things at the restaurant, or even onto the certain _witch_ he was about to visit - the corner of his lips would twitch upwards. Draco's 'cheerier' mood didn't go unnoticed.

In fact, Tom appreciated whatever was going on _right_ with the young Malfoy's life as it meant he would stop causing ruckus down at the pub at late hours. Word was even whispered about the young Malfoy's livier demeanor. The upcoming holidays must have been rubbing off on him.

A breath of condensation floated before him as the chilly air blasted Draco's face when he stepped out of Leaky Cauldron. He shuddered, rubbing his arms to generate more heat. At least Weasley's Wizard Wheezes wasn't far of a walk. He didn't _want_ to see her. And while Draco, in his mind, insisted on playing the childish game Granger started (which she didn't), he _needed_ to speak to her. Desperately.

"Aah-" There it was. The famous joke shoppe which came back to life due to Granger's _amazing_ skillsets. As much as the thought was doused in sarcasm, Draco knew it very much to be true. It was _because_ of the witch they were so successful. The store sat on the corner of one of the major streets, easily attracting customers. Their window frames coated in bright red with a stupid giant mannequin (resembling too much of Arthur Weasley, Draco thought) topping off his hat. He paused right outside the shop, watching the store's light beam out onto the dark streets of Diagon Alley.

For a moment, the glass doors looked like gates of Heaven as the lights parted the shadows, and he was about to step through.

 _Tsk._ As if a Malfoy would end up in Heaven.

* * *

Hermione stood next to George, who wore a _ridiculous_ squid hat. Its tentacles would try to suction onto any passerby and, once, even grabbed onto a woman's breast, earning him a slap across the face. _It was worth it_ , he said to his little brother while rubbing his cheek. The two of them discussed inventory and new upcoming items. Occasionally, Hermione would scribble something down onto her clipboard, her quill much too fancy for the environment she was in.

When the bell above the door jingled (it used to scream, but it scared off the customers, so Hermione had it changed), George glanced up, putting on his best face, extending his arms and puffing his chest. "Welcome to Weasley's-!" but stopped, his arms dropping down with an almost comical _smack_ to his sides.

She looked up from her notepad to see what stopped George. Not a lot of things rendered him speechless.

"Oy!" Ron shouted. "What are _you_ doing here?"

"Is that how you greet all of your customers?" A familiar voice drawled on.

 _Malfoy?_ She blinked, craning her neck to get a better view over several heads which were also turned in the direction of the two men at arms. Why would Malfoy be here? Of all places? Was he looking for _her_? Hermione's heart beat at the thought. It had been a while since they last saw each other. She _did_ say she would owl him but never followed through. There wouldn't have been any other reason for visiting the Weasleys' store.

Hermione pushed through the crowd, making her way towards the front of the store.

"Love what you did with your hair, Weasley." His voice dripped in mockery, making note of Ron's shining bald head. While George embraced his bald head with all its glory, Ron hid it in shame and wore an obviously fake wig. Ron's face reddened as he turned around, noticing his red wig on the ground. "I wonder..." Malfoy continued his antics. "I wonder if the carpet match the drapes…?" He flashed the flustered Ron his _charming_ Malfoy smirk, baring his teeth every so slightly, egging on the fuming bald-head.

Ron's hands balled into fists, shaking, ready to strike their childhood nemesis. Hermione took a step, ready to stop a potential fight between the two, but George, having longer legs, made it there before her, standing in front of Ron just as he lunged forwards and held him back.

"Oy! You don't treat customers that way!" The older Weasley was stern towards his little brother as he grabbed his shoulders. While most only ever saw him as a comical, silly man, George knew when to put his foot down and hold command. Especially if it was going to be in his shoppe. And even though he wasn't a fan of Malfoy, the man was still a potential _paying_ customer. Always please the customers.

"He doesn't belong here!" Ron nearly shouted at George, moving his head to the side to glare daggers at the blonde.

" _Watch yourself_ ," he muttered in a serious tone. Ron huffed, not ready to give up, but faltered when George brought up Molly. "Don't make me call Mother over here to give you a piece of her mind."

"Fine." Ron folded his arms, like a stubborn child being denied his recess, and looked the other way. As much as he wanted to pick a fight with Malfoy, he feared the wrath of his mother so much more.

George turned towards Malfoy, who stared at him, a bored expression on his face. "Why don't I show you around?" As the would-have-been fight came to a simmer, the patrons went about their evening as normal -parents showing children toys and friends playing pranks on each other.

Malfoy smacked a fanged frisbee down onto the ground as it came flying towards his face. The thing whimpered as he planted a foot on top of the dangerous toy. "Actually, I'm looking for Granger."

"Hermione?!" Ron piped up once more, moving up and standing next to George. "What do you want with _our_ 'Mione?" His face reddened once more at the mention of the witch.

"Business matters. You wouldn't understand. Above your pay grade, I imagine." He smirked.

"Business matters? What sort of business do you have with her?"

Annoyed with the shorter Weasley's twenty-questions game, Malfoy decided the best way to shut up a stupid weasel would be to shoot him a little insult. Not that the blonde wouldn't enjoy himself. The wizard probably got some sort of high off insulting the Weasleys. "Wouldn't wittle insecure _Won-Won_ like to know? Are you _scared_ I'll steal your little Granger right out of your sticky, _sticky_ fingers? Scared she'll like me more than you?" Malfoy leaned in, speaking low into the man's ear, but they were too far for Hermione to make out any words. Whatever Malfoy said, it pissed Ron off.

"Fucking bugger _off_ , Malfoy!" He gave the blonde a shove before he whipped his head towards Hermione, his eyes a-blazing as he stared at her. "Why are you working with this... this _murderer_? Did he _do_ something to you? You can tell us!" Her eyes widened as his insult as she looked over at Malfoy, noticing his jaw was clenched. " _Ow_! George!" Ron gripped the side of his head as his brother chucked Prickle Balls, which were tiny spheres that extended barbed spikes whenever it struck other objects. Prying it off was always a huge pain in the arse. Hermione still didn't understand why it was sold to children. "Ow! _Stop_ it!"

She pursed her lips, watching Ron as he tried to fend off his brother's attack, only to get Prickle Balls stuck in his fingers. Malfoy slipped past the brothers; George now laughing as Ron whined. He did deserve it. No pity for Ron. _What a ninny._

"Granger," Malfoy greeted her, staring down at the frizzy haired witch.

"Malfoy," she replied while taking one last glance at the doofuses. "Sorry you had to go through that, and in front of all these people, too. Ron can be a git, sometimes."

" _Sometimes_?"

A quiet chuckle escaped her lips as she shook her head. "Well, to be honest, almost every day as of late. You said you have some 'business matters' to discuss?" She hugged her clipboard, tucking a quill behind her ear. Having Malfoy here… it made her nervous. Not in a daunting sort of way. The kind of way that made her blood race and her face flush with heat. It was almost flattering that he would resort to coming by her work instead of owling her, instead. Even if she said she would owl first.

"Some things have come up," Draco responded, terse. His hands slipped into the pockets of his peacoat. Was it cold outside? Shoot. She didn't bring a coat.

Hermione waited for a moment, staring at his hands, unsure if he was going to continue on with what he needed help with. And then a light bulb went off in her head. Oh. He wanted privacy. "Right, let's go to my office, shall we?" She gestured with her hand, her palms facing forwards as she pointed towards a door on the other side of the store. He walked next to her, looking around at the various items flying around the shoppe. Some of them even tried to beeline for him, luckily for him - perhaps his years as a Seeker paid off- he'd duck in time to avoid getting hit. Most people would usually get a good bop or two on the sides of their head. Agile. Wasn't that… no. Not attractive. Why would she think such a thing?

When they entered her office, Hermione shut the door, locking it with _Colloportus and_ silencing it with an imperturbable charm she learned from Molly years ago at Grimmauld Place -just in case George and Ron decided they were going to use the extendable ears. And, just for kicks, another deflective spell would come in handy if they tried to come close to the door. A smirk flitted across her lips as she quietly hoped it to go off.

Torturing Ron, regardless of his mood, was beginning to grow on her.

* * *

"You _what_?" The witch standing in front of him gasped after hearing Draco recount his previous event at the Singing Serpent -about how he called out Madoff, how the man let slip the money was actually being stolen, how he was being blackmailed (Draco found it entertaining seeing Granger's cheeks light up at the mention of his financier sleeping with another man), and how he and Blaise blackmailed him as revenge. "I can't believe you did that. Merlin, that could have gone _very_ wrong!"

 _Hmph_. He was sure she would have been a _little_ bit excited as his find. He worked so hard to formulate the plan with Blaise.

"But I'm glad it all worked out," Granger nodded, processing everything through that giant brain of hers. _Oh!_ She was impressed. Good. Coming to the shoppe would have been all for naught if she was just going to reprimand him. "So, what do you plan on doing next?"

"About that," Draco started, running his fingers through his blonde locks."I'm at a loss. It's why I'm here."

Hermione beamed. "You? Need _my_ help?"

"Get with it, Granger," he nearly snapped before remembering, yes, he really needed _her_ help. "Yes," he drawled, rolling his eyes. "Will you please help me?" Was that what she was waiting for?

"Give me a minute, yes?" She smirked, relishing at the fact Draco needed her assistance. As she made way towards the door, dispelling everything, and she stepped out. He could literally see the gears turning in her head as she focused on her task, attempting to formulate a plan.

Well, while she was gone, this was his one chance to snoop around her office -and so Draco did. It was brightly lit with floating candles and lamps scattered throughout the room. The walls were painted in disgusting red with gaudy gold picture frames, garish gold-plated lamps, and gross gold seats to decorate the office. Damn Gryffindors. Always so proud. But other than her awful taste in decor, the room was clean and organized -much like the witch, actually. Not a speck of dust out of place, he thought, running his fingers on the wooden desk.

The fireplace crackled quietly, and Draco shifted his attention towards its direction when he noticed a familiar looking object sitting on the shelf above the furnace. He picked it up, turning it around, recounting where he'd actually seen it when the door opened once more. "Is this...Is this the goggle I designed?" Draco turned to Granger as she closed the door, reapplying the spells.

"Oh, you found it," her voice was quiet. "I, actually, received it just today. I was going to stop by sometime this week. To show you... well, to give it to you. It's the anti-fog goggle you showed me, um, that night." Her cheeks flushed as she was reminded of the drunken evening at Draco's.

Ah, yes. That was.. Quite an evening.

"I accidentally took it when I was gathering my materials, "she continued. Granger figured since she already had a basic sketch of a potential product, she would just go ahead and reach out to the company who manufactured all of the joke shoppe's items and see if they were able to prototype the goggles. A laugh slipped through her lips. "Oh, you won't believe this, but they were so confused at first! They thought I wanted them to make a bra. You should have seen the man's face." Draco's cheeks reddened as he remembered her initial thought. "Don't worry-they thought it was a brilliant idea, though. Once I explained everything to them."

Why would she do this for him? To go out of her way to get some rudimentary sketch prototyped? Without him even asking? To just do it on her own free time? No, no, he wasn't mad. Draco was confused and...and he was happy?

"There's no actual magical properties embedded into the goggles yet," she went on, almost blabbering, but Merlin, he could listen to her talk forever right now. His heart pounded as excitement built up in his chest. This witch -someone he loathed his entire childhood- was helping him, even when he didn't ask for it. What did he do to deserve this? Draco stared down at the goggles; he just couldn't understand her kindness. "But we could get together sometime this week, maybe discuss what would work best with what items? I could introduce you to the manufacturing company as well."

Draco slowly made his way over towards Granger as he continued to stare down at the simply designed goggle. He traced over the product with his fingertips as he tried so hard not to smile.

"Sorry, I didn't ask you before," she panicked as he remained silent. Granger was too pure. Too kind. Too... He looked up, only inches away from her. "I should have asked you, should I?"

"No. Don't... apologize." His hands, moving of their own accord, grasped her arms gently, still managing to keep hold of the goggles, his grey orbs peering into her big doe-like eyes. Were they always brown? "Thank you." His thumbs caressed the sleeves of her blouse.

Her eyes widened at his gratitude. It wasn't very Malfoy-like. It was quite out of place. He never said those two words. At least not to her. "Are you sick?"

"What?" He looked down, realizing he'd nearly pulled Granger into an embrace. "Oh-" he dropped his arms and loudly cleared his throat, looking away awkwardly.

* * *

"Um..." Her voice faltered as she looked at the device she brought in earlier from the store, turning it around idly as she glanced back up at Malfoy who refused to look at her now. "So this-" she held it in front of his face, grabbing his attention, "-is a tracking device."

He glanced from the corner of his eyes down to the tiny cylindrical gadget.

"Actually," she laughed. "George designed this. He would always attach it to Angelina -his wife- so he could conveniently bump into her when they were still at Hogwarts." Hermione always thought it was cute, albeit borderline creepy and stalkerish. In her head, she always imagined George just showing up in the middle of the night, right outside the girls' loo, as he 'conveniently' bumped into Angelina.

Still staring at the appliance, Malfoy commented on the older Weasley's wife. "Oh, yes, I remember her. Johnson. She was Gryffindor's Chaser. Damn good one, too." He smirked. "And a pretty thing she was. Shame to learn she married a Weasley."

Miffed, she chose to ignore his comment, though her heart ached for a split second- a familiar feeling of jealousy slithering into her veins. What was she jealous for? It was only Malfoy. Why should she care who he found attractive? It didn't matter.

" _Anyway_ ," she snapped him out of his thoughts as she amplified her voice a bit. Hermione waited until he focused his attention onto her once more. The corner of his lips twitched at her response. Was he finding this entertaining? "Let me show you how this works." She chose to ignore his subtle jab at her and yanked the goggle out of his hand, placing the tracker on top of the strap. With a tap of her wand, she muttered, " _Invisitatum_ ," and the tracker was rendered invisible. Hermione ran her fingers along the fabric of the strap. The device, literally, untraceable. "Out of sight, out of mind."

Malfoy smirked, fascinated by the object.

" _Indicatus_." She tapped where the gadget was and it revealed itself, not having actually moved.

"Bloody brilliant!" He nodded, approving her idea. She smiled as her cheeks tinted. "We put this on the money-"

"-then get Madoff to take it to the bank."

"Yes! And we'll follow the device -see where it lands us!" Malfoy's fingers covered his lips as he attempted to hide his smile, excited for their new plan.

"Oh-but there is one drawback," Hermione plucked the device off the goggles, handing the prototype back to Malfoy. His shoulders slumped. "For some stupid reason, George made it so the tracker's magic will last only three days. And then the item will start..." Hermione sighed, almost embarrassed to say it, "shrieking."

"What? Why would he _do_ that?" The blonde groaned, hanging his head. The plan would have otherwise been flawless.

"He thought it would be funny to scare Angelina, and then come to her rescue." Hermione rolled her eyes, though sniggered as she rehashed a story George once told her about the device going off while she was _actually_ using the loo. He received detention for several weeks after that. "Anyway, as long as we can get Madoff to set it off before placing it into the bank, then, hopefully, it should be fine. Assuming they retrieve the money in time."

He took the tracker from Hermione, their fingers coming into contact with each other's briefly and sending electrical jolts up her arm. She snatched her hand back, putting her pointer finger between her lips and pinched the skin. Her brows furrowed, confused. What just happened? What was that shock? Malfoy took no notice of it. Was it just her? She glanced down at her fingers, rubbing the pad of her finger with her thumbnail. How peculiar.

"Perhaps we could figure out a way to change the properties of this thing?" He closed his left eye, lifting the device to his other eye and squinted. Almost as if he was trying to find something Hermione hadn't already tried. The three day limit was always stupid.

"Yeah..." she started, shaking her head, "That's not going to work. You mess with it, and it will explode and douse you with siren's ink."

"Fucking Weasleys."

* * *

"Can I keep this?" Draco held the goggle to Granger.

The witch looked at him then back towards the prototype and shrugged. "I had it designed for you anyway."

He slipped the goggle into his oversized pockets, unable to hide his smile. Honestly, it was just about the nicest thing anyone had done for him in...well, it'd been too long, hadn't it? Lately, her kindness was what kept him getting out of bed. He'd never admit it, but he started to look forward to their meetings. He wanted more of it. "Let's schedule something this week, Granger. I can't have my business partner disappear on me for weeks on end." He checked the time; late. "I have to head home."

Blaise was probably still in his apartment, getting tossed off Draco's awfully expensive liquor. Then again, after what Draco put him through, perhaps the man really deserved to get shit-faced. Either way, he didn't want another Granger incident in his loft. Blaise wasn't a pretty witch, and Draco didn't plan on holding back his hair while he puked into his sink.

Granger, quickly, dispelled the door as he reached for the handle. Sparks of the leftover magic fizzed around his fingers as they tried to repel his touch but died out with a puff. And then he remembered a certain angry-faced turnip-head. Draco turned towards the witch, who gathered some documents and was reading through everything. Did she ever stop working? "Granger-"

"Hm?" She kept her eyes on the papers.

"Play along, would you?" He pulled open the door, not giving the woman much time to process his demand. Draco cleared his throat, slipping one hand into the pocket, holding tightly onto the goggle as the other arm went around her shoulders. He wore his best deadpan look.

He felt the witch tense under his touch, and from the corner of his eyes, noticed she held the documents up higher to hide her face. What was she _doing_? She needed to play along! Draco looked for his target. Ah- there he was, not having really moved much since he entered the store. Though, Draco did notice Weasley was riddled with little pink holes all over his body. Draco smirked, raising a brow as they locked eyes.

Draco leaned into the preoccupied witch, whispering into her ears, "I _really_ like sugar quills," all the while maintaining eye contact with Weasley. He shot a wink his way. Fucking with Weasley was always so entertaining, even after ten years. Oh, Merlin, the turnip-head changed into a plum-head! Was there actually steam coming out of his ears?

He held in a laugh as he watched plum-head's reaction.

* * *

What-what did he say?

She heard a whisper coming from Malfoy, but it was his hot breath against her cold skin that made all the hairs on her arms stand. Come to think of it, why was he touching her? Hermione whipped her head in his direction and a gasp left her lips as the tip of their nose brushed against each others. Her body froze and she nearly scattered all the documents onto the floor.

When did he get so close?

What was he doing?

Did he just say he liked _sugar quills_?

His striking icey-grey eyes snapped onto hers, just as shocked as she was. And the blonde pulled away as he slowly withdrew his arm and straightened his posture. A dash of pink danced across his cheeks as he bade her farewell and left the store in a hurry, leaving Hermione behind and confused with a wildly beating heart.

What just happened?

Why was Ron purple?

 


	8. Dine and Sign

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you haven't had the opportunity to, please check out Background! It started off as a one-shot and it ended up being a 3-part thing. It's very close to my heart 'cause much of it is reflected on my life. It IS a love triangle between Hermione, Draco, and Blaise, but I promise you it's good. Give it a chance. :)
> 
> Anyway! This chapter was A LOT of fun for me to write! It's just silliness everywhere, and I think you guys will enjoy the ending. 
> 
> ANNNDD... Thank you once again to Mr. Benzedrine for proofing and giving me ideas to make this chapter even more awesome! She recently published a one-shot called Starlight. Be sure to check it out. It has all the feels, and you won't be disappointed.

The morning sun was much too bright for Draco as he squeezed his eyes shut in an attempt to block out the garish light. A leg was draped over the back frame of the couch, and the other hung freely off the edge, his toes pressed against the rug. Both his arms dangled off the edge of the settee, having fallen asleep in a very awkward position. His brain rattled in his head as he pushed himself up from the couch -his bones creaking and popped as Draco straightened his body.

He peeked through slitted eyelids, staring at the coffee table in front of him, and a weary groan escaped his lips. The table was littered with empty bottles of _expensive_ liquor with _several_ glasses filled to the brim with undrunk alcohol. "Bullocks..." Draco sighed, taking the container and squinting at the brown liquid. Maybe it was still good.

A loud snore erupted, scaring Draco in his delicate state and spilling the drink all over his arm- and his costly rug. "Oh, bloody Hell!" he exclaimed, slamming the cup back down, hoping it would wake his slumbering friend, but the Italian merely acknowledged him in another snore, stirring ever so slightly. "Prat."

Just how many times had Blaise come over already? While Draco complained about not having enough time in a day, Blaise had way too much. The man insisted on coming over almost every night. 'To catch up on old times,' he would say. Each time Blaise was over, the two of them would drink themselves into a stupor, recounting old stories, telling dumb jokes, and trying to outdrink each other -which was _probably_ the cause of his daily hangovers. Probably.

Nonetheless, they enjoyed their time together, although the whole waking up hungover deal could be done without.

After he glared daggers at the sleeping Blaise, hoping his icy stares would suddenly send chills down the man's back and wake him up, Draco decided a quick fix would do the job to get his day started. Another pop in his back sounded as the blonde slowly pushed himself off the couch. Was he getting that old already? He massaged his back with a balled up fist, hammering at the knot in his spine.

Small bottles of Cure-All potions sat in a glass cabinet next to the liquor case. They were the ones he preserved for when he brewed it for Granger. The corner of his lips twitched as he thought about the witch. Draco uncorked a vial, taking a small sip to make sure the potion was still fresh. A sweet honey-like taste burst in his mouth, and the grogginess slowly disappeared. Good, the potion hadn't expired.

_Knock. Knock._

"Huh?" An automatic response came from the sleeping man, curled up on the armchair.

 _Stupid..._ Draco snorted through his nostrils, rolling his eyes as he downed the rest of the potion before making his way over towards the front door.

With a turn of the handle, he swung the door open, and their eyes met.

"Granger?"

His brows creased in confusion at her random appearance. As he was about to make another comment, Draco noticed those soft brown orbs dart down towards his chest. His eyes followed. _Oh!_ He wasn't wearing a shirt? Then again, he did run hot. Most nights, even during the winter, he would sleep shirtless and often times without pants. He scrunched his neck a bit, looking down at his legs -okay, pants were on.

Her cheeks reddened at his unkempt sight. Granger was only used to seeing him dressed up, not...down. It might have been a sight for her to see. His lips twitched, and he arched a brow. Was she... Was she _embarrassed_?

"So," he started, wearing a wicked smirk. "What brought you over to my... _humble_ abode this lovely morning?" He kept his voice low, propping an arm against the doorframe, flexing every bit of muscle. The other arm hung at his side, a thumb hooking onto the belt loop. Draco tugged a bit on the thin fabric, bringing his pants down ever so slightly, showing off the 'v' of his pelvic muscle.

 _Oh, Merlin..._ Granger was as red as a ripe tomato; her eyes darted towards his crotch, and she quickly turned away, clearing her throat. Her actions were so predictable, but seeing her cheeks turn rosy because of him -well, it was enthralling. She mumbled as she licked her lips- those plump, red -Oh, what did she say?

"Come again?"

"I said..." she sighed, her eyes fluttering shut, refusing to steal another glance at Draco. "We agreed to have a meeting today. To talk about your...um, stuff." Granger coughed at her poor choice of words, regretting it.

 _Shitfuckshit._ Was that today? Was that _now_? Draco's demeanor changed: his back straightened and his arms dropped down to his sides. So, she wasn't...just...dropping by for _fun_? It was actually for work? Oh, of _course_. He mentally smacked himself upside the head; they'd planned for another meeting when he visited her at the joke shoppe and confirmed the date a few days later. Fuck -how could he just forget about that?

Draco must have been a little louder than he had intended while toying around with Granger, since Blaise lounged in the loveseat, watching the two interact with each other. A weird expression rested on his face. The blonde tried so hard to capture the attention of the bookworm, but she just looked the other way, refusing to give him any mind. A wicked grin swept across Blaise's face as he nearly jumped off (quietly, as to not disturb the two) his seat.

The Italian tiptoed over towards his flustered friend, and with a clean swoop, or so to speak, he wrapped his arms around Draco, pulling him into his embrace. His hand cupped the blonde man's shoulders, his middle finger drawing small circles on his pale complexion, leaving little traces of red marks. Without giving Draco the opportunity to react, Blaise leaned in, giving Draco a rough kiss on the cheek.

"Oh!" A quiet gasp came from Granger as a hand quickly flew up to her mouth, covering the 'O' shaping her lips.

"Oy!" Draco tensed as he saw her expression, and snapped his head towards Blaise, shoving the man away from him. He quickly wiped at his reddening cheek, brushing away whatever _disgusting, filthy, horrifying_ germs the man might have spread onto him. He glanced over towards the frizzy haired witch then towards his friend, who was barreled over in laughter, unsure who to focus on first.

"I...I didn't know you and Blaise were dating." Her eyes were wide with shock. "Con...Congratul-"

"-We're _not_!" Draco nearly snapped as his friend's bellowing continued distracted him. "Damn it, Blaise!" He swung a leg to kick him, but the Italian quickly jumped out of the way, avoiding his blow. "He's just being a _sodding bellend_!" He tried kicking Blaise once more, though to no avail.

Giving up, he looked to Granger, still standing outside in the hallway, and desperately yanked her into the apartment, hoping no one overheard their conversation.

* * *

Rum... scotch... cognac, and even bourbon bottles cluttered the living room. Just how much could these two men drink? Or perhaps they held a party and hadn't had time to clean up. Given Malfoy's disheveled look, Hermione's cheeks flushed once again; he'd just woken up.

She sat on the couch: her back straightened, knees pressed against each other and feet planted firmly on the dirty rug. Her eyes were staring at the table, a bit too intensely. Malfoy mentioned he was going into his bedroom to freshen up -ten minutes ago, so she sat in the living room with the very strange Italian man.

He continued to giggle every few seconds or so over the incident, taking sips of bourbon he'd conjure up.

"Drinking this early in the morning can't be good for you." Hermione peeked over towards the man as he propped his legs up on the table, carelessly knocking bottles onto the ground.

A smirk danced across his lips as he savored the toasty aroma of the alcohol. "Oh, I'll be more than happy to stop drinking." Zabini dropped his feet onto the ground with a thud, leaning in towards the witch. The corner of his lips turned upward as he stared at her. "As long as you're willing to provide me some...sugar." The Italian bit his lower lip, raising suggestive brows at the woman.

Red could be seen crawling up her slender neck and pooling around her cheeks. Hermione, uncertain how to respond to the man's action, decided to count the empty bottles. _One, two, three, four-five-six-seven-_ Why was he getting so close to her? Since when did he move next to her? Wasn't he sitting on the other settee?

His smile grew wider as he leaned closer towards Hermione, and as if her prayers were answered, a book lowered between their faces, blocking Zabini's advancement. She turned back, her mood lifted, seeing a clothed Malfoy holding the book, scowling at his friend. "Bugger off, you twat." Without a warning, he popped his friend in the face with the hardcover literature, forcing him to back off.

How odd the Italian's mood didn't change, and, instead, he grabbed onto his nose and giggled away like a school kid.

"Don't think I won't tell Millicent where you've been hiding!" Malfoy threatened the Italian, whose eyes widened in horror as he mentioned the particular Slytherin troll, and quickly jumped off the couch, scurrying over towards the inactive fireplace.

"Yeah, yeah, don't let me ruin your precious little...date." Zabini reached for the Floo powder while activating the pit. He turned towards the couple, sending a wink over towards Hermione. "If things don't work out with this pretty boy," he waggled a finger towards the fuming blonde, "Know there's always another one around the corner, ready to sweep you off your feet." With his unoccupied hand, he blew a kiss to the blushing witch and disappeared through the transport.

Hermione was finding the room much too hot -and it was winter! She took off her overcoat, neatly folding it and setting it next to her, and fanned herself with her hand. The glow on her rosy cheeks would never going away.

With a wave of his wand, Malfoy cleared off the table from all its messy contents, though the stains were already set in the rug. He seated himself next to Hermione, running fingers through his damp tresses. Whoever knew his hair would curl just a bit whenever it was wet? It looked good. "So -you have work for us?"

"Oh, yes!" Gone was the shy, red-faced woman and was replaced with the confident facade Hermione was so used to wearing, pulling out all the paperworks from her magical satchel. "Here are some of the..." she grunted, shoving her entire arm into her bag, blindly searching for the tiny gadgets. "Merlin, where are they? Oh! Found them." She pulled out a handful of tracking devices for Malfoy to use in his plan with Madoff. "Here. Remember, don't turn it on until the money's going _into_ the bank."

She gently placed the devices into the palm of his hands as he accepted them. Their fingers grazed against each other's once more, and there it was -a jolt zapped her appendages. Except this time, he felt it, too. With a slight jump, he pulled back his hand, staring down his fingers with furrowed brows then back towards her.

Malfoy licked his lips, making light of the situation. "Looks like our magic like each other."

"It's just friction," she stated as a matter-of-factly, thought she continued to rub at the pads of her fingers. "It happens a lot in the winter due to the heat build up in our homes or our bodies."

" _Tsk_ \- looks like we're going to be recounting the stories of _Tales of Granger the Geek_ ," He set the devices in a cup that didn't get conjured away into the washing bin.

With a cock of an eyebrow, she smirked at the blonde. "Draco Malfoy, are you _jealous_ of me?"

"Jealous? _Me?_ Tell me- what was your score in N.E.W.T.s for Potions? _Hm_?" He gave her a lopsided smirk, knowing he would win this exchange.

She stared at him, an eye twitching as his comment. Hermione cleared her throat, changing the subject. "So, aside from the devices, I figured we could transfigure some of objects into the sketches you have-"

" _I_ got an Outstanding. Just saying."

"Congratulations, Malfoy. Would you like a chocolate frog with that?" she snapped. Merlin, the stupid wizard was so pompous sometimes. " _Accio_ sketches!" Hermione continued to send glares at the blonde through squinted eyelids as sheets upon sheets of paper floated out from his bedroom and stacked themselves neatly onto the table. "Now-" Hermione grabbed the top sketch, "-for the, um-" her brows furrowed as she tilted her head to the side, "-cape."

It was a simple enough start to get the ball rolling with their meeting. Using her coat as the guinea pig to transfigure into Malfoy's prototype, Hermione pointed her wand, " _commutavi capa._ " The jacket contorted, folding and shifting in size, buttons and sleeves disappearing. And the overall look and feel of the new product was...lacking, to be honest. Hermione bit down on her bottom lip as the corners of her mouth threatened to turn up into a smile.

Oh, it looked so elementary. Her chest palpitated a few times as she tried to hold in a laugh. From the corner of her eyes, she could see Malfoy's pale features glow red in embarrassment at the transformation. While the coat did, in fact, change into a cape, the result was, clearly, not what they expected.

"So...I'm guessing you got a Troll for your N.E.W.T.s in art class?" She sniggered, continuing to stare down at the piece of crudely cut cape.

"I didn't take art."

"Well, I'm not surprised, then." Try as she may, she couldn't hold in anymore and released a giggle. "Oh, haha! I'm sorry -your... hahaha, your sketches are _great, pft_ hahaha-" Hermione patted his arm as he scowled at her, his cheeks tinted pink. "I -mmnhahaha- look at this!" She picked up the cape, expecting the fabric to drape over, but instead it held its shape, stiff like a cardboard. "Merlin! Hahaha!"

"Oh! Put a sock in it!" He shoved Hermione, snatching the cape away from her, possessive over his own design. "It's not that bad..."

Coming down from her laughing spell, she wiped away at her eye as tears spilled. "Of course, it's not! It's -hahaha- it's wonderful."

While they occasionally found something to laugh at, Hermione and Malfoy buckled down to business. The two of them discussed spells to use for each item as they transfigured them one by one. Hermione jotting down notes while he suggested different spells they could try on the _real_ prototypes.

"Maybe we can...find someone who's an artist?" She picked up the fifth item they transfigured with her pointer and thumb. It looked like some sort of oddly shaped phallus, though, it was _supposed_ to be a foot peg to hook onto the broom so novice flyers wouldn't fall off so easily. Another icy glare was shot in her direction before Hermione apologized quickly, chuckling, "I'm sorry! I didn't mean it -just, this looks highly...inappropriate."

* * *

Silence was welcomed between the two of them as they worked next to each other. Draco, sketching new designs (and trying to make them look better) while Granger -well, what was she doing?

He arched his back, feigning a yawn, stretching his arms towards the ceiling and stole a glance over to the witch. Oh, she was just doing paperwork for the Weasel's store. Boring. Wait -wasn't she supposed to be helping him with _his_ business? Without a warning, he pulled out the paper from her lap.

"Hey!" she chided, trying to take back her paperwork.

"You're supposed to be helping _me_ ," he said, almost sounding hurt.

"You were working on new concepts -I figured I'd catch up with my other job." Granger lowered her hand, setting it onto her lap. "Plus, I think we might be close to finished anyway."

Were they? Draco glanced around the room seeing all the transfigure attempts displayed on the table. _Four, five, six_ items pretty much figured out and to be taken into the manufacturing company to product a more stable prototype and perhaps even wearables. But... he glanced over at the clock, it was only noon; she couldn't leave just yet.

"Well, I've got some other things I need you to look at." He returned the document to her, the witch wearing a quizzical expression on her face. "But what about lunch first?" Draco patted his stomach, "I'm famished."

"Lunch sounds great!" Granger smiled, taking the new sketches Draco worked on. "Where to?"

"I've got just the place." He stood from the couch, fetching his coat from the hanger, shrugging it on.

The witch gathered the sketches Draco worked on earlier. "I'm going to take a look at these while we walk there, then."

 _Definitely a geek,_ he thought watching the woman bury her face in the sketches, reading all the little notes he had written down earlier. He kept his eyes on Granger as she silently made her way down the steps of the Leaky Cauldron, not once tripping over herself. Maybe she had some sort of third eye hiding somewhere in that bird's nest she called hair.

Draco slipped his hand into the pocket of his coat, shuddering from the freezing wind while Granger seemed unfazed from the weather. He looked back at her once more -when did she bring a _quill_ with her? The ink bottle floating next to her as she dabbed the tip into container, scratching in her ideas and comments. He rolled his eyes, shaking his head from side to side as he came to a stop at the crosswalk, waiting for carriages to bustle on by.

So, Granger could walk down stairs, weave between pedestrians, but apparently, when it came to crossing the street, she had no sense. Draco watched, waiting for some sort of response from the dense Gryffindor and as she was about to step onto the busy street, he grabbed the crook of her arm, yanking her back, his sketches floating into the air, down onto the crowded road. " _Oy_!" He frowned, as she flew into his chest, her face concealed in his sternum for a moment before looking up at him with those big sheepish eyes. "Pay attention, why don't you? Unless you want your face buried in the cobble stone, instead?"

He released his grip on her arm, pushing her off ever so slightly and moving to pick up the wet, ruined sketches he worked so hard on. But he wasn't even upset about that. Draco wouldn't show it, but his heart was rattling against his ribcage. The scent singed into his nostrils as he inhaled the cold air -honey and lemon with a hint of ink and parchment. He silently cursed at the stupid muscle, demanding it to slow down. Whatever. Maybe it was because the damned witch was almost ran over by a carriage. That was probably it -adrenaline.

"Oh -I'm so sorry, Malfoy," she piped up, her voice quiet, apologetic as she gathered whatever artwork remained. A drying charm couldn't even save these now, just scraps of useless parchment.

Whatever. He dropped the paper back onto the ground. It wasn't worth salvaging anymore.

Draco continued to lead the witch to their restaurant destination, though he picked up the pace, taking big strides with each movement. He could hear Granger scuttling behind him, trying to keep up and apologizing continuously for messing up all his hard work. That wasn't even it -he was just trying to get away, even if for just a second, so he could reset his stupid heart. Instinctively, he pounded on his chest with a balled up first.

"We're here," he finally said, glancing over towards the flustered witch as she tried to catch her breath. They stood in front of a relatively small looking yellow building with no other signs of life wandering around. But -it's why he chose this place in the first place. Not because no one knew where it was, but it was a hole-in-the-wall that Granger wouldn't have known about.

She, awkwardly, thanked him as he opened the door for him, giving him a skeptical look as they entered the joint. For a brief moment, she'd forgotten about his silent treatment towards her and stared at the restaurant in awe. It was quaint and simple -oddly enough, the store reminded him of the frizzy-haired witch. The walls were painted lightly pink, just like the flush of her cheeks. The tables and chairs were sandy brown, the same color of her hair. Everything was neatly organized, much like her habits, and bookshelves lined the back wall, filled with muggle and magical literatures. "Wow..." She whispered, smiling at Draco. "Did you pick this place for me?"

"I figured you would appreciate it." He unbuttoned his coat as the waitress seated them, next to the window. He hung his coat on the slack of the chair, seating himself. The witch, however, kept staring at the bookcases, eager to see what was on the menu.

"Do, do you mind if I-?"

And with a wave of his hand, Granger nearly jumped, hopped, and skipped over to the back, pulling out several books at a time, looking at their name, and slipping the ones she'd probably read back in it's place. Draco couldn't help but smile to himself at her actions; she really did look like she belonged.

"Have you read this one?" She came back with a stack of books. Her eyes wide with disbelief at her find. "It's called _Frankenstein_ by Mary Shelley. This is the first edition! In pristine condition!" She opened the front cover of the book once she set the rest of the literature onto the table, "Look! It even has her _signature_!"

"Yea -she was a witch, afterall." He took the book, flipping through the pages carelessly as Granger cringed outwardly at the way he handled the book. "All these books were written by witches and wizards of the past -Welcome to the Athenaeum."

Granger plopped down onto her seat for the first time, amazed. "I can't believe there's a restaurant like this! How amazing..." Her eyes were fixated on the other books, the determination to read them was strong- but her company was more important than a set of books. Perhaps she'd make this place a weekly visit, now. "Thank you." A smile flitted across her lips, unable to contain the excitement of being in one of her favorite places - a library. Let alone a library which served food.

The two of them enjoyed each other's company as they waited for their meal. Granger looked through the books, and Draco watched her, though he kept trying to look anywhere else but. There just wasn't much going on, and he'd get so bored staring out at... birds or whatever shite was out there. Okay. So, maybe he wasn't even trying, but the witch's smile was just much too intoxicating to not stare at.

She finally set down the books when food arrived, and a loud growl erupted from her stomach at the delicious aroma. Her cheeks reddened -Merlin, just how many times did he watch her blush today? It... looked really cute on her.

"Let's hope your table manners are more ladylike than your stomach." Draco glanced down at his food, waiting for Granger to dig into hers first. Time slipped through their fingers today. They'd work so hard and long, and enjoyed their time so that being hungry wasn't even a priority- until he inhaled the mouthwatering smell of his Moroccan sausage omelette.

Hush fell between them once more as they focused on their entreè, both of them taking big bites to fill their empty stomachs in an attempt to satisfy their starving selves.

"Mmmm..."

Draco's eyes snapped onto Granger's as they fluttered shut. His food was halfway from reaching his mouth when he froze. Did she -did she just _moan_? At her _food_?

"Mmm..." There she goes again. Oh, _Merlin_... With a quick clear of his throat, her eyes opened, blinking, unaware of her previous actions.

He shifted around a little bit in his seat, trying to get into a more comfortable position. "So... Weasley's hair- Why don't you just give him a regrowth potion?"

"If he didn't think to give himself a potion, then he doesn't deserve a one." Her tone was cold at the mention of her ex.

"That's cold, Granger," Draco smirked at her response, approving her actions. "Maybe you should have been sorted into Slytherin, instead."

"Perhaps -I would have dethroned you in an instant. You're not worried?"

"Please," he scoffed, rolling his eyes. "The crown wouldn't even fit with such massive hair you have."

"What's with you and my hair, Malfoy?" She squinted at him as she set her utensils down, finished with her lunch. "It's like... you're _obsessed._ " Granger picked up her glass of water, taking a small sip.

Another roll of his eyes came her way, "It's not obsession when it's _right in front_ of my face." With his hands, he gestured the puffiness of her hair -as if she'd be caught in some aftermath explosion in the potions lab. She giggled as he pulled out a coin satchel, dumping about three galleons onto the table. "Ready?"

Granger nodded, conjuring the books back onto the shelf, and exited the restaurant. "Thank you for lunch." She shuddered as a gust of wind swept through them, and like _any_ gentleman would, he offered his coat to her.

* * *

"So tell me, Granger," Malfoy started after retrieving two butterbeers from the bar back at Leaky Cauldron and handed one off to his companion. Hermione accepted a pint, following him up to his room. The blonde wizard turned to glance at the witch as they ascended the steps. "Does the rug _really_ match the carpet?"

"What?" She furrowed her brows as his inquiry.

He unlocked the door, pushing it open for her to enter first. "Do I need to spell it out for you?"

"I've no earthly idea what you're talking about!" She placed the glass on the table as she slipped off his heavy coat, a whiff of mint, entered her nose. Her eyes shut as the smell awakened her insides, but the moment was soon ruined by the immature man.

"Damn it, Granger. Pay attention!" He felt like he was trying too hard to get his answer, but it was already too late. "Do his _pubes_ match the color of his _hair_?"

"Oh, _Merlin_!" She chucked the coat at the blonde, trying her best to put on a frown, but Hermione clearly failed. "Perhaps you're _obsessed_ with another thing? You know you could tell me if you and Zabini are a couple," the witch smirked, cocking a brow. "I _promise_ I won't tell."

Malfoy laughed, catching the coat before it hit him in the face. "I'm too pretty for Blaise." He took a sip of his sweet drink before making his way into his bedroom to fetch something. Hermione made herself comfortable back onto the couch, looking at the failed prototypes they conjured up earlier. The corner of her lips turned upwards.

God, these looked so bad.

The blonde wizard returned, carrying a relatively thick stack of paper and dropped it onto the table. "I forgot to mention this to you, but I got a lawyer to draft up a contract for you." Hermione glanced down at the papers then towards Malfoy, confusion written all over her face. "Once you sign it, you'll be working with me as an official partner." He took another sip of his drink; it was almost half gone. "This way, you can get paid for all the hours you've been working with me."

She picked up the stack, flipping through it quickly, though never actually reading it. "Thank you for this, Malfoy, really, but we don't necessarily need to be partners for this all to work." Hermione set it down onto her lap, her hands holding it in place as she glanced up towards the wizard, who stood towering over her. He seemed so daunting for some reason. "I'm just happy to help."

"You don't want to get paid?"

"Money's not everything, Malfoy." Hermione turned her attention back towards the papers, her fingers strumming against it. "I have plenty of it. Don't worry about me."

"I don't need your _bloody charity_ , Granger," he snapped, suddenly in a foul mood. His voice was cold and full of spite -almost as if she'd said something to rub him the wrong way. Her eyes met Malfoy's once more.

Why did he have to use that word? Charity? It's exactly what she didn't want him to think. Couldn't he see she was doing it out of the goodness of her heart? And not because he was some philanthropy project? "What are you talking about 'charity'? I'm not looking to _offer_ you charity! I know you and your family are going through some tough times! Even _you_ said it yourself -money's been stolen from you, millions of galleons, and you're here thinking I'm spending all this time with you because of _charity_?"

"This is exactly what charity means!"

"What?"

"Why won't you take the _sodding_ money, Granger? Get paid like every bloke who works their asses off. Is it because _my_ money is dirty?" She could see the rage fueled in his eyes. "Just like how my family is dirty? Are you so _ashamed_ of working with a Malfoy that you won't even sign the _fucking_ papers?"

Hermione shot up at the comment. The documents fell onto the ground with a loud thud, but it was ignored as the two of them glared at each other, unblinking, almost as if they were trying to see who would win the staring content. She debated on leaving. It would have been the best bet -just to let this all blow over, for him to cool down and see her side of things. But then again, if she walked out right now, wouldn't she be like all the rest of them? All of his friends who left him because of the damned mark on his left arm?

So, instead, Hermione conceded and sat back down. "To prove to you that I am _not_ ashamed of working with a _bloody_ Malfoy, I will sign the _damned paper_." She pulled the same quill and ink out from her satchel that she had during the walk to Athenaeum and signed her name neatly onto the blank spaces -ten signatures total. "But, I will not accept any form of payment from you. That is our compromise." She set the writing utensil onto the document, wrapping up her speech. "And if you _insist_ , I will not hesitate to terminate this contract. So-donate the money to _actual_ charity, instead."

Malfoy, having calmed down after she signed the papers, nodded in agreement.

* * *

He sipped on scotch, now. The empty pint of what was once butterbeer sat, dangerously, at the corner on the coffee table, waiting to be knocked over at any moment. Not a single word exchanged from the pair after she _officially_ became his business partner. His eyes darted over towards her -Granger twiddling her thumbs while staring at her unfinished butterbeer.

Then out of nowhere, "Brown."

"What?"

A half-smile appeared on her lips as her eyes crescented into their own twinkling smile. "The rug is brown," then a giggle as she finally made eye contact with Draco. His expression didn't help much more.

It took him a moment to comprehend her out-of-the-blue statement, but once he caught on, he grimaced. The bridge of his nose scrunching up and his brows furrowed, almost touching each other. "Oh, Granger! I didn't _actually_ want to know."

Her hands were covering her lips as she tried to hold back her laugh, a single tear trailing down her cheeks as she contained in her chortle. " _Sure_ , you didn't! Just like you said you and Zabini _weren't_ in the middle of doing things this morning!"

The two of them shared a laugh, recounting his friend's crazy behavior. Draco could always count on Blaise to be some sort of comedic relief -that was for sure.

When their amusement died down, Granger kept their conversation alive, determined to keep the fire going. "So, Malfoy," she shifted into a more comfortable position, crossing her legs into a pretzel-style onto the couch and rested her hands on her ankle. "Do you have a company name?"

Draco leaned back onto the settee, his arm propped along the back and the other rested on his chest with his glass of scotch. "I do, actually."

"Tell me."

" _Draco Ascendens_."

"Ascending Dragon?" She smirked, tilting her head to the side, a stray lock of hair falling in front of her face. "It's so _Malfoy_ of you to have your first name in the title."

He took a sip of his drink, shrugging at her quip.

"I'm really happy to see you be more yourself." Granger tucked the ringlet behind her ear before dropping her hand down onto her lap.

Another sip, paired with a skip from his heart. "You barely know me."

"I know enough." She spoke quietly, her eyes never leaving his. "I know of 'the boy who had no choice.' I know of Lucius's controlling, manipulative nature forcing certain xenophobic beliefs onto you at a young age-"

Draco frowned at the comment, "Don't talk about my father like that. You don't know him. He is a good man -raised me right. Spoiled his only son to no end. Whatever I wanted, I got. He was loyal until the very bitter end, protecting his family as he saw fit-"

The witch raised a hand, silencing him as he went into a spiel about his father. "And you're nothing like your father. As good as a man you think he _is_ , _you_ are so much better than him."

"You really think you know me, Granger?" He leaned in, glaring at the witch, but she didn't falter. Instead, the witch sat up straighter than ever, her head held high, proud. Damn Gryffindors.

"Yes, actually. The faded mark on your arm..." she scooted closer towards him, gentle hands pushing against the sleeve of his left arm, stopping at his elbow. Her fingers traced along the discolored Dark Mark, and a shudder ran down his spine. It'd been so long since he'd been touched so delicately, let alone on his arm. No one ever looked at it or even tried to acknowledge its existence. The only time they did was to look away, pretending it was never there. "How you're forced to wear this every single day -for the rest of your life. How _this_ forces people to judge you immediately. I know this pain. I _understand_ it all too well." Her hand stopped over his, grasping his tightly, comforting him though he refused to show any signs of emotion.

Granger continued. "I know what it's like -everyone looking at you, thinking they know you-"

" _Tsk_." He pulled his hand away, looking off to the side. Anywhere but her. Crazy witch didn't even know what she was talking about. Where did she go off talking all high and mighty as if she was better than him?

"But I do-" She pulled his attention back onto her as she reached for his hand once more, unafraid of Draco. "Being a war hero -it's not glamorous." The pads of her fingers traced along the veins of his hand. "Everyone thinks they know your story. Everyone expects you to act a certain way. To be an inspiration to the new generation. To set an example for everyone. To be the _good_ of the world when the rest is going to shit. My parents, my family, my _whole_ life on display for the entire world to see. People following your every move-"

"-eyes and ears everywhere. You're never alone." He sighed, staring down at her dainty hands. To imagine, these delicate hands once scratched and bloodied, fighting for her life in the War. "I get it," Draco whispered, his hand turning slightly and their fingers laced through each other's, grasping, holding on, afraid to let go. Afraid to lose this witch's caress.

"You're not alone in this, Draco," she whispered. Their eyes met, really seeing each other for the first time.

His heart stopped and an ache, so strange to him, appeared, creating a knot in his chest. For the first time in his life, someone was beating against the icy walls of his soul, determined to knock it down and save him from the Hell he threw himself into. No one ever stood next to him, not since the War. Not once did anyone offer a word of support. Not once was there a hand to hold -until now.

She bit her lower lip, hiding a smile as her cheeks grew pink. "I'm here for you. Always."

Draco leaned in, dropping his drink without care; he grasped the back of her neck and pulled her into him. Their lips met in an awkward clash. Her body stiffened at his move, but in the heat of the moment, she melted into his touch, reveling in the taste of his soft lips. He gently nipped at her bottom lip, eliciting a whimper from the witch. His eyes snapped opened, realizing his actions, and he pulled away, his cheeks tinted in pink- much like hers.

He wiped at his lips as he stared wide-eyed at Granger. Her expression sat just as wild as his, and, once again, they found themselves in a staring contest. It was all too short when she finally blinked, breaking the spell.

She turned away, clearing her throat, and a trembling finger touched her wet lips. "Well, um..." Granger cast a shy glance over towards Draco, who remained still. "That, that was..." She sighed, quickly gathering up her belongings. "I should really go. You know, I still have so much work to prepare for tomorrow. I'm so behind." Granger stood up as she continued to mumble under her breath about the amount of paperwork she had as she walked towards the front door.

Was she really going to leave? Just like that? Draco sat up straight, opening his mouth to say something, but the door closed too soon, and he fell silent.

Perhaps a cold shower would be best right now. Merlin, it was hot in here.

 


	9. In Good Company

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you haven't checked it out yet, I have another story called Background! It's a drama/romance/sad kinda story, and I know it might not be everyone's cuppa tea, but I promise you it's good. :3 I had a lot of fun writing it and it's only going to be three chapters! Not long at all! So take a look. :D :D :D Pretty please with a cherry on top? ;)
> 
> A bit thank you to Mr. Benzedrine for always helping me with proofing and laughing at the story while beta-ing. :D Makes me feel all warm inside knowing I did my job right, haha. Also, she just released a new fail one-shot called The Closet Relativity Theory which is hilarious! Check that out, too. :D
> 
> Another thank you to LightofEvolution for giving me the idea for Draco's company name. She also has two fanfics out called High on Magic and Branches. :)
> 
> Without further ado~ Enjoy. :)

 

 

 

A dull, monotonous thump vibrated along the wooden desk as Draco's foot came in contact with its frame every few seconds. The pencil holder coffee cup clicked as the writing utensils rattled, and the lamp light flickered at each impact. The room was empty, save from the two bodies currently residing in it -Draco, who was nervously picking at his nail, and Granger, who sat next to him and found every single little thing in the room just _utterly_ fascinating.

It was the first time the two of them had seen each other since...the incident several weeks back at Draco's apartment. Since then, their, or rather Granger's, choice of communication was writing tediously long letters through owl posts. Every time he tried to ask to meet in person, she would always make up an excuse: she was going out with friends, staying late at work, had dinner plans with parents -whatever. Anything was worthy of her appearance except for him.

Ugh, Draco's frustration was at an alltime high. It, seriously, slowed down work productivity by tenfold. And honestly, he thought the damned witch would want to get this out of the bag as soon as possible instead of delaying things. Considering she was the 'smartest' witch of their generation, she certainly lacked in the common sense department.

And okay- maybe, just _maybe_ he wanted to _really_ see her, but that was just the additional perk. Of course, it was. Why else did he need to see her? They were business partners after all. They needed to meet face to face to get shit done.

It's not like he stayed up late every single evening, thinking about her heartfelt speech or the kiss or her plush, sweet lips. It's not like the feel, taste, and smell of her were burned into his memory. And it's not like he kicked Blaise out almost every single night for his much needed alone time.

No, of course not.

Draco audibly scoffed at the thought, trying to will away the unwelcome thoughts. He glanced over towards the witch, staring at her from the corner of his eyes. She was, now, flipping through their business proposal, acting as if everything was just _fine._

* * *

Oh, but Hermione was everything _but_ 'fine.' She was, thoroughly, irked at the blonde wizard's impulsive actions -and he didn't even bother to bring it up!

Granted, she didn't help much on the case -every time he suggested they meet up somewhere -anywhere- she'd throw him a list of reasons not to. Okay, so maybe he wasn't _all_ to blame, but still! Malfoy could have just owned up to the...the kiss.

She closed the proposal book, setting it onto her lap, and stole a glimpse over towards the man. Merlin -had he been looking at her? Hermione turned away quickly, her cheeks turning into a light shade of pink.

Luckily for her, the door to the office swung open and a portly man squeezed through the frame. All was forgotten for the time being. The man always reminded her of Santa Claus: a round belly, rosy cheeks, and big white beard. And, if things worked out, he would be delivering them the best kind of present -a seal of approval to start running their business.

Both Hermione and Malfoy stood from their seats, greeting Cattermole: the man she met with a few months back with the tardy Ron. She still got on his case for being so irresponsible. "Good morning, Mister Cattermole -thank you for taking the time to work with us today." She gripped his hand with a slight squeeze.

"Ah, yes, Miss Granger. It's good to see you again -how is the joke shoppe coming along?"

She smiled, tucking a stray ringlet behind her ear and smoothed out the back of her pencil skirt before taking a seat. "It's been doing well. The approved patent forms really helped our business. Again, thank you for being so helpful."

The older man chortled, his second and third chin wiggled along like Jell-O. "I'm only doing my job." Cattermole placed his hand on his desk, readjusting the moved stacks of paper -most likely due to Malfoy's incessant kicking against the table. "So- what can I do for you two this lovely morning?"

"My business partner, Draco Malfoy," Hermione gestured towards the nervous blonde wizard as Cattermole gave him a curt nod, "And I are wanting to open a new business for Quidditch goods and accessories." She handed him the proposal document, ranging almost fifty pages with details from store name to items and even logo designs. Hermione had it all down to a tee.

The older man accepted the document, an impressed expression written all over his face as he flipped to the first page. One could always count on Hermione to cover all the specifics.

She glanced over at Malfoy as he fidgeted in his seat, his hand gripping at the armrest, knuckles white from the strength of his grip. The corner of her lips twitched ever so slightly. Never in her life had she ever seen a more nervous Malfoy -it was oddly refreshing. A reminder that even the coolest cucumbers were also human. She reached over, placing a comforting hand over his in reassurance.

His eye greys flitted over towards her. In that moment, all the tension and awkwardness about them faded, and they were just there. Waiting as partners or friends -or whatever the social term might have been- for the approval of their business. A faint smile crossed his lips before he turned his attention back towards the pudgy man, eagerly awaiting his verdict.

Cattermole was the deciding factor on whether Malfoy's dreams would come true or be shot dead right on the spot. It really was life or death.

Her heart pounded against her chest as the man finally returned to the first page and a ' _whew_ ' escaped his lips.

He smiled and nodded. "This is... _very_ detailed, Miss Granger." Cattermole tapped the cover of the proposal, "but everything we need to proceed is in here. All I need to do now is go through the system, make sure there aren't any conflicting interests, and..." he checked his calendar, "I will owl you two in just a few days. You'll come back, sign some papers, and everything will be finalized. You'll be able to start looking for space for _Draco Ascendens_."

Hermione exhaled a breath she didn't realize she had been holding and smiled widely. She stood up once more, and Malfoy followed suit.

"Thank you so much for this, Mister Cattermole. You have no idea."

Malfoy reached out his hand towards the man, his lips turned upward ever so slightly as he maintained a composed expression ."Thank you for your time -I really appreciate it."

* * *

Draco and Granger arrived back at his apartment.

He was just _one step closer_ to running a business -a _real_ business, where people weren't going to try and screw him over constantly. He was still bitter over Madoff and his scheme. But none of it mattered right now.

A huge wave of relief washed through his body as it all settled into the pit of his stomach. It was, suddenly, so _real_ for him. His heart banged against his chest as he looked at Granger - the woman who made his fantasy a reality. He wouldn't have been where he was now had she not reached out to him.

"Thank you," he laughed, not believing what had just happened at Cattermole's office. In a swoop, without even thinking twice, he wrapped his arms around her slender frame, pulling her into a tight hug. But then -there it was, snapping him out of his daze. Her body suddenly grew rigid at their contact and in turn, his froze.

_Shit._

The awkward air about them returned with greater strength, forcing them apart. He held her at arm's length, staring straight into her panicked chocolate orbs as he tried to read her expression. Draco silently prayed for something -anything other than excuses.

"I, uh-I have to go?" she blinked a few times, confused at her own response. "You know me-" Granger breathed out a laugh as she looked about the room, unsure whether she had things to gather or not. When there wasn't, her hands nervously played at the hem of her shirt, unsure how to proceed next. "-always busy. Working, working, working!" Another gawky laugh as her eyes locked onto the door behind him.

"Right..." he muttered, not believing her for a moment.

It was always the same bullshit excuse.

"Right, then," Granger sighed, "I-um, great job today. I, uh, I suppose we'll see each other again in a few days to finalize all the paperwork." She nodded, her curls bouncing along beside her before she took a step backwards. Draco's arm dropped to his sides. "Until then..." She curtsied the man, paused, and then, _quite literally_ , ran out of the apartment cursing at herself for the stupid bow.

He watched her leave, a blur of umber hair disappearing as the door closed with a quiet click.

Silence.

Draco inhaled, his chest puffing out, and he held his breath for a moment. His eyes squeezed shut, hands combing back through his blonde tresses as his fingers grasped onto the roots, tugging on them gently. He exhaled loudly, frustrated. Definitely, _definitely_ frustrated as he mentally reminded himself he would deal with the witch later.

But right now... right now he had other matters to attend to. Yes, an entire day's worth of work waiting to be done.

There was no time for... well, for whatever it was between him and Granger.

* * *

She could feel the red burning into her cheeks as she escaped the Leaky Cauldron. Blinking wasn't an option as she scurried down the streets of Diagon Alley. Every time she closed her eyes, she saw mental images of their kiss. His hug. His expression when she made up more excuses to leave. Ugh -why did she keep running away?

Where was her lioness when she needed it? Damned cowardly feline.

Hermione needed to get back to work, but oh- she couldn't concentrate! Not since the day at his apartment. The sweet look on his face as he pulled into an equally _sweet_ kiss- she stopped in the middle of the sidewalk, pedestrians nearly bumping into the witch at her abrupt halt. _Stop it, brain!_ She bopped the side of her head as if she could just dump all the memory out onto the street.

Seriously -it was affecting her work! It'd been the same routine day in and day out. She would sit behind her desk, with ever growing piles of paperwork in front of her, and she would just... read the same stupid line over and over again, retaining and understanding nothing. _Nothing._

The witch continued making her way down the streets. She paid no mind to where she was going, obviously skipping out on work, and just continued to walk or fly or glide. Hermione moved at an unbelievable pace, lost in a cycle of her own thoughts.

Stupid Malfoy and his stupid kiss. Why did he have to go and lay one on her? What was Hell wrong with him?

She glowered as her cheeks continued to burn, not from the cold weather, but from the constant thought of the snarky blonde.

Before she knew it, Hermione stood in front of Number Twelve Grimmauld Place - Harry's (and unofficially, Ginny's) home. She hummed as her foot tapped impatiently on the cemented ground, watching the puff of steam escape through her nostrils.

He wouldn't have been home anyway -an Auror's job was a full time, around the clock kind of work. He never had much time off, especially with the wedding just a few months away. Harry needed to work overtime just so he could have some days off for their honeymoon.

Anyway, Hermione didn't come to their house to seek out _his_ advice. Imagine, talking to Harry Potter about boys...and kissing...and _Draco Malfoy_ , specifically.

Her lips twitched upwards at the thought. No, _that_ would end in an nightmare.

* * *

" _Okay_. _Fine._ I will help you..." Blaise took a sip of his early afternoon scotch, staring at Draco, miffed. Ever since their reunion, the two of them hung out almost every single day, whether it was the Italian helping him with his work duties or just lounging around the apartment drinking.

But these past two weeks were spent home alone, pouting, and going on the still terrifying dates with Millicent. Just... just how many more dates did he have to suffer through? He'd already gone on five, and the woman _would not let up_ on trying to get into his pants. He grew tired of batting her off.

"But I will _not_ go on _anymore_ dates with Millicent!" He pointed an accusing finger at Draco, frowning. "I swear to Salazar -if I have to deal with that... that _troll_ of a woman again." He shuddered at the thought. The woman was desperate for a lay, but Blaise was determined not to be the one to help her with her...situation. "You know what? Let's make it so I don't have anymore dates with any troll-halflings...or _giant_ -halflings -Keep them one-hundred percent _human_."

Draco held his hand up, sniggering as he promised his friend. "No more dates. Swear on my Mum's grave."

"Oy, that doesn't mean _anything_ when she's still alive!"

It was the _least_ Draco could do - to allow Blaise some sort of sanctuary since he was offered to the behemoth Slytherin cook as if he was some sort of sacrificial hunk of meat. But he'd been (quite rudely) kicked out every time Draco found him in his apartment, drinking his alcohol. Well, maybe that was it -they _were_ expensive. The blonde made it known and was quite stingy about them.

Or maybe... he continued to stare at Draco as his friend blinked back, giving an odd look. Maybe there was something going on between him and the crazy-haired witch, Granger.

Ooh, that was probably it. The corner of his lips turned upwards as he brought his drink up to his lips once more, hiding the smirk behind amber liquid. "I wouldn't mind going on a date with, oh, _what's her name_ \- Miss Gryffindor princess, Hermione Granger."

Draco's attention snapped on to his friend as Blaise mentioned her with a terribly hidden grin.

The Italian waggled his brows. "Not sure if you've noticed, but she's grown _quite_. A. Bit." His hands moved in a wave lengthwise, gesturing an hourglass, and whistled. "A hot tamale."

Draco scowled at Blaise, realizing his friend caught on to the budding feelings he developed for Granger. "She's out of your league, _mate._ Wouldn't give _you_ a time of day. Why you don't just mosey on into the background and play nice like the secondary character you're meant to play?" Blimey, he sounded so defensive.

"A muggleborn -out of _my_ league?" Blaise gasped, a hand resting over his chest as he feigned a hurt expression. "You're my best chum, _Malfoy._ You're supposed to support my journey in finding l _ooooo_ ve." He chortled, wrapping an arm around Draco. "And I would _really_ appreciate a piece of that fine Granger. _Mmm_!"

Another sneer was shot in Blaise's direction as Draco jabbed him in the ribs, annoyed at his friend's endless teasing. "Sod off, Zabini."

"Hahaha, you're too _cute,_ " Blaise grabbed his side as he almost spilled his precious scotch before teetering away from the foul mood man. "Right, now. You've distracted us. Let's get this _shite_ out of the way, yeah?"

* * *

"You _kissed_?" Ginny smacked Hermione with a stack of wedding notes, eyes so wide they were going to pop out of their sockets. "You-kissed-Malfoy?!"

"Technically, _he_ kissed me." The back of her neck prickled, embarrassed at the thought.

The two women were seated in the living room as Ginny was in a rush to finish the rest of the invitations. There were well over four hundred witches and wizards from all over the world invited to attend their wedding.

It was quite the opposite of what Hermione would have wanted for her ceremony. If and when she married, she would want something small -friends and family only. Outdoors and in a different country, away from the curious eyes of Londoners -somewhere she wasn't so well known. Hermione would want Ginny to be her maid-of-honor, and Luna as a bridesmaid; their dresses would be a nice turquoise while the men's side would have matching ties.

It's not like she's given much thought on the event, not at all. Don't ask her for a binder of wedding scraps, because she would _not_ have one hidden under her bed.

"Why are you just now telling me?" Ginny smacked her once more, snapping Hermione out of her daydream, annoyed

"I don't know?" She pursed her lips, slipping an invitation into tiny folder before sliding the bundle into an envelope. She lifted the flap, running her tongue over the glue before sealing it. "I...I've been lost in my mind. I don't know what to think of it. He just..." Hermione glanced over towards the checklist of names, writing the the receiver's name and address. "He won't get out of my head. I can't stop thinking about-" She stopped mid sentence, staring down at the envelope. When did she write Malfoy's name? Hermione peeked over towards Ginny, who was too busy with her own tasks, and quickly crumbled up the envelope, discarding it.

"Hermione, you're getting your priorities wrong." Ginny pulled out another sheet of invitations, "I need to know -how was the kiss?"

* * *

Sweat poured out of every pore as Madoff watched the two younger men tower, threateningly, over him. They wore stone cold expressions: eyes were hollowed, and a slight frown etched into their lips. The auras about them were just murderous.

It was clear Blaise and Draco were here for business.

The older man dabbed his forehead, wiping away the sweat, though it continued to pour out, drenching into his white collared shirt, surely to create a yellow stain afterwards.

From the pocket of his nicely ironed slacks, Draco took out a mason jar filled to the brim with the tracking gadgets Granger had given to him that day. "These are trackers," he explained tersely. "You have _one_ job, and I expect you to get it done properly."

Madoff nodded, listening intently.

"Get these," Draco pointed to the jar, "Onto the bundle of money you'll be transferring to the American bank." He arched a delicate brow whilst glaring at the man. "Just as you're about to put the money into the bank, you activate these babies."

"How?"

" _Invisitatum._ And that's _all_ you need to do."

The man nodded once more, understanding. He was determined to not screw up on his task, given what Draco had done to him last time they were out; he knew very well the young Malfoy would royally fuck him up for the rest of his life.

"Once you're done with your task, you're officially let go from Malfoy Industries. You'll be a free man to... well, _do_ whomever you want."

Blaise smirked at his friend's goad, unable to maintain his fearsome façade.

"Oh yes," Draco continued, massaging his chin. "That reminds me," he glanced over to his friend, signaling him. Blaise pulled out a glass flask filled with a glowing liquid substance swimming around in circles. "Fuck up, and I'll be sure to send this nice recording of our conversation at Singing Serpent to your lovely wife -what's her name again?"

"I do believe it's Emmeline." Blaise piped up, his smirk growing wider.

"Right. And in case you think this is all a _ruse_ -One Cozener Lane." The address of his estate.

"I-I-I promise this will all be done perfectly. Everything will be completed tomorrow. Please don't tell my wife." Madoff begged as he grabbed onto the mason jar with shaky hands. The idea of him being outed to his wife and sleeping with another man terrified him to no end. His family name would be in ruins afterwards. He wouldn't be able to find work, no one would want to associate themselves with him. No, he would do his job properly and get out of the foreboding Malfoy's life.

"I look forward to hearing from you tomorrow, then." Draco gave the man a sharp nod before he turned to his friend. The two of them Disapparated on the spot, creating a whirlwind of mess in the poor man's office.

* * *

Hermione sat on the beige couch with her head resting against the crest rail, exhausted. Just how many envelopes did she seal already? And there were still so many left! She rubbed the pad of her tongue against the roof of her mouth; it felt like sandpaper.

"Do you think I should invite him?" Ginny teetered, giddy at the thought.

" _Who?_ "

"Malfoy, of course. Do you think I should invite him to the wedding, too? I'm sure we could squeeze him into your table. Oh!" The redhead clapped her hand loudly, as a lightbulb went off in her head, scaring Hermione. "Maybe _you_ should invite him to the wedding! He could be your _date!_ "

She rolled her eyes at Ginny's ridiculous antics. "I don- _No_ , Ginny. I don't like him like that."

The bride-to-be hopped next to the tired witch. "Are you sure? The way you described his kiss? It sounds like you're already smitten."

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please remember to review! :)   
> It makes my day~


	10. Delivery on the Run

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Sorry for the delay! It's been a pretty busy week/end for me, and I kind of hit a writer's funk for a day before being able to really produce anything. Things are movin' forward with Draco and Hermione (business wise, haha!) and I hope you guys enjoy this chapter. :D

 

It couldn't have been more obvious there was something _odd_ going on with Madoff. His usual confident demeanor was completely taken over by a nervous, fidgeting man who was drenched in perspiration, _regardless_ of how much he tried to dry his face and neck. In his hand, he held a black leather brief case. The actual container strained against the steel handle as the weight of hundreds of galleons burdened it.

Madoff, finding time between dropping his youngest off at daycare and making lunch plans with his beloved wife, managed to Apparate to the top of an undiscovered hilltop out in London's countryside. He glanced around, brown orbs widened with suspicion. These past twenty-four hours were exhausting. It felt as if there were eyes and ears hiding under every leaf, between every blade of grass, and even high above in the clouds.

Watching his footing, the plump man quickly maneuvered his way down towards the bottom of the hill, searching for an item -a portkey.

It was different every time -never the same item and never in the same location. But one thing stayed constant: he would always receive a letter the night before, from an anonymous source. Sometimes the note was on his bed or even a bookmark in his current literature. There were even times his sweet, sweet daughter would hand it to him. The thought of some... _strange_ man handing his child something -commanding her to deliver it to him -scared the living daylights out of him. And after reading the script, it would always destroy itself in a puff of scentless smoke -never leaving a trace.

Madoff wasn't proud of what he was forced to do, but he did it because he didn't want his family in ruins. He didn't want to see his little girl, or his wife, hurt. Though no threats were ever verbally made, one could only imagine... Regardless of whatever scandal the _treacherous_ Malfoy heir held, Madoff still, very much, loved his family.

Aha! There it was! That must be it -a discarded steel tumbler tucked under a berry bush. A brief reflection on the sun's cheery disposition gave away its hiding spot.

Madoff waddled over, lifting his knees up towards his chest as the grass was unkempt and had grown wildly tall over the decades of neglect.

He squatted down, reaching for the portkey with great strain, and, as his fingers grasped around the cup, his entire world seemed to implode as if he was being violently sucked into a black hole. _Ugh_ -he hated this feeling. Portkeys were the absolute worst. His body felt as if it was being stretched and compressed all at the same time; his stomach twisting and turning as he blasted through space. His eyes rolled into the back of his head, seeing nothing but black for a moment, before everything finally slowed down. Madoff blinked, his brown orbs returning to their rightful position, finally seeing starbursts of colors and then shapes.

His legs moved on their own, as if it was second nature, gliding downwards towards the land below him. Being able to land on both feet wasn't easy -those who weren't accustomed to using a portkey were usually flung onto the ground, at times, seriously injuring themselves. It took Madoff years to perfect his descent, and he was always proud to show it off. His chest puffed a tad as he landed safe and sound.

As much as portkeys were annoying and unpleasant, they really did come in handy for long distant travels. In mere seconds, Madoff was transported from London, England to New York, New York.

What many _didn't_ know about the United States was the abundance of wizarding communities in the area. New York, itself, had at least eight different districts. With the amount of people living in the city, it was needed. And it wasn't just the big NYC, itself -Los Angeles had ten, Chicago with six, and Houston housed nine.

He looked around, taking in his surrounding. Madoff visited New York plenty of times, but he could never grow accustomed to the culture change. It was rather different from London. The witches and wizards seemed more in tuned with the muggles' world, such as using technology, such as these kinds of phones people could carry around in their pockets -though, many magical folks complained the little machines were finicky. Magic and technology didn't always mix, unfortunately.

Madoff arrived in a bustling magical community not too far from the main streets of Manhattan. No one looked twice at his arrival as they continued going on about their day. No stranger took notice of the man drenched in sweat, though it was four degrees Celsius. Everyone was too caught up in the holiday spirit, buying presents left and right. With a minor adjustment to his collar, Madoff huffed, breathing out a puff of carbon dioxide before making his way towards a brick wall. It was similar to King's Cross Station in London: walk through it, act like everything was normal, and the muggles so wrapped up in their own business wouldn't even notice. The protection charm helped, too.

His destination, as always, was the Metropolitan Commercial Bank, where all the bigwigs went to deposit their hard earned, or perhaps too _easily_ learned, money. No one would ever suspect a wizard to store their currency into a muggle bank. It was the perfect scam -of course, until the young Malfoy caught wind of his dirty deeds.

An attendant greeted him as he walked through the overly sized glass doors. Her smile didn't calm him, though. In fact, his chest felt so warped and distorted he could have sworn his heart would jump out and run away. "How can I assist you today?" The hostess waited, her fingers linked together as she waited for his response.

The man looked around once more, wary of the amount of people here today. Who were the spies? Did they catch wind of his misdeeds-? Though, what he did before didn't make him any more a saint. Would his family be safe? Merlin, he really needed to use the restroom right now. Madoff squirmed, pinching his legs together as if he couldn't hold on anymore. But he knew better, at this point, he was stalling. The quicker he could get this done and done, the sooner he can move on with his life and out of this hellhole that randomly appeared.

"Y-yes, I'm looking to make a deposit today." His lips twisted up as he tried to plan a smile onto his face. It didn't work. Nervousness got the best of him. Madoff held up the briefcase, showing the woman his reason for the visit.

Another smile made its way onto her lips as she nodded in response. "Of course. Many of our associates behind the counter will be able to assist you today...or perhaps are you looking for something a bit more _private_?" She held her palm out towards the large individual rooms to the right side of the building.

"A private room, please."

"Certainly -if you'll give me just one minute." She turned to the rooms, knocking on one of the opened doors. A man dressed in a three-piece gray suit gave the woman a curt bob of his head as he set down his pen and stood from his seat. Shortly, the two of them made their way to Madoff as he stood in the middle of the entryway, the nail of his thumb scratching away at the steel handle of the portfolio. "This is Justin Phillips; he will be your financier today."

A smidge of his nervousness went away as Madoff found it entertaining. A financier needing a financier. Where was the irony in that? He wiped his free hand along the seam of his slacks before holding it out to the well dressed man. "Thank you for your assistance, Mister Phillips. Bogrod Madoff. A pleasure to meet you."

"Mister Madoff," Phillips gripped his hand, his face not reacting to the clamminess of Madoff's palm. "If you'll follow me, we'll get right down to business."

* * *

 

A gentle rap of the window pulled Draco from his reading - _Building Better Businesses_ , a book Granger owled him several days back. In fact, she sent him several literatures -all on how to build, run, and maintain a successful line of work.

He never bothered to read much. Draco often found it a waste of time -why spend his day reading, locked inside a room when he could go off exploring and actually _experience_ the things people write about? He'd much rather live his own adventures than someone else's. But, for some reason, he wanted to read _these_ sets of books. Not because Granger adamantly suggested him to, but because there were so much more to running a business than he initially thought.

Draco dog eared the page he was reading, bookmarking, closing, and setting it onto the couch cushion. The tapping against the window continued incessantly as he made his way over. He opened the curtains to a small window and pushed open the pane. A cold breeze gusted its way into the warm apartment, sending shivers coursing down Draco's bones. An owl flapped tirelessly, thrusting its legs out for the blonde man to receive his correspondence.

When he took the scroll, the owled stayed, staring unblinkingly at the man. His grey eyes met large amber ones. "I don't have any snacks for you." And he closed the window. He could hear an irked hoot coming from the avian before the sound of its wings grew distant.

' _To Mister Draco Lucius Malfoy,_

_I have delivered the goods., and as per your demands, I have vacated my office at Malfoy Industries. Thank you for your services all these years. I hope you well._

_Sincerely,_

_Bogrod Ofidan Madoff'_

The corners of his lips twitched upwards as he read the letter. The deed was done, and he wouldn't have to deal with Madoff anymore -hopefully. Draco crumbled the letter, tossing it to the side before he pulled out his own parchment, quill, and ink. He checked the time - six thirty in the evening. Good, it wasn't late.

When he finished writing, the wizard made his way into a smaller room connected to the living room. It was his owl's room. Yes, Draco's owl had its _own_ office. As the door opened, the owl shifted slightly, opening an orange eye, seeing who it was before opening the other. A gentle hoot came from the Eurasian Eagle Owl as it greeted his master. "Good evening, Bubo Bubo." Draco scratched the top of the owl's head, and the feathered horns on its head twitched with content. "Need you to take this to Hermione Granger," He tied the scroll around its leg and another hoot came from the creature, confirming Draco's command.

Once the letter was secured and Draco stepped back, the owl stretched its brown and beige wings, almost emulating a human's movement as they extended their muscles after a long slumber. With a small hop off its perch, the owl swooped out the already opened window, quickly fading into the evening's backdrop.

xxx

Draco was, once again, nose deep into the business book, sipping on a cup of tea -a huge change for once, before Bubo Bubo returned. It hadn't been thirty minutes since the bird left, and he returned with another scroll. The bird stuck its leg out, allowing its master to take the parchment, before dipping its beak into the warm liquid the man was drinking.

' _I'll be over once I finish cooking dinner.'_

It was all she wrote -but that was good enough for Draco as he used the letter as a bookmark for his literature. A childish smirk threatened to write itself across his lips, but he tried very hard to look as if the note hadn't just made his evening. With a clear of his throat, the owl flapped its wings and returned to its room; the door magically shut itself once the bird entered. He picked up the tea cup and dumped out the rest of the beverage.

With a wave of his hand, Draco activated the Floo network in his fireplace, eagerly awaiting the witch's arrival.

xxx

"Malfoy -I'm here." Granger stepped through the hearth about an hour later.

Draco, who had been reading to pass the time, dozed off about thirty minutes after he'd received her letter, impatiently waiting for her arrival. He snapped his head up quickly, blinking away the sleepiness and glared at her. "About time you graced yourself in my presence -what were you doing? Making dinner for the entire Weasley family or something?"

Draco set the book down, still using her note as a bookmark, and glanced up at the brunette as she stepped further into the living room. Though he shot a quip at the newly arrived witch, his tone said something completely different -he was excited to see her, but he made sure she couldn't see it on his face.

With a roll of her eyes, she huffed. "Actually, I like to prepare all of my meals in one go. That way, I don't have to cook all the other days, so I can focus on all my other works." Her comment almost seemed as if it was _normal_ to cook over twenty meals in a day. "Anyway -I brought you some food." Granger set a black container onto the dining table. "Hope you're hungry."

"Oh," he glanced at her then towards the food, unsure how to respond. "Thank you, I guess." Suddenly, he felt bad calling Granger out on her tardiness. Draco reached over, pulling the box closer towards him and popped off the lid, the aromatic smell of seared salmon entered his nostrils, and his mouth watered. He eyed the fish, its flesh plump and pink, though slightly burnt on the edges, sprinkled with red chili flakes. Roasted potatoes, carrots, and broccoli were tucked between the fish and brown rice. "This looks delicious. Have you eaten?"

Her cheeks reddened at the compliment as her eyes stared at her freshly made entreè. "I haven't." Granger held her own container, showing it to the man seated on the couch. "Shall we?"

A loud growl erupted from his stomach as if it was answering her question. Embarrassed, Draco chided, "I hope you cooked the salmon all the way through. Merlin knows I can't afford a Healer to visit on account of food poisoning."

" _Oh_! Really -If you don't want it, you could have just said so!" Granger quickly moved over towards the table, attempting to snatch away her hard work and, obviously, hurt by his comment.

But Draco was quicker -he grabbed the container, pulling it towards him, and held it close. "No, I want to eat it. I'm hungry."

Her eyes rolled once more, but this time, it was accompanied with a slight twitch at the corner of her pink lips. Perhaps she saw through him, realizing his jab wasn't mean to hurt her at all, but rather to cover up his chagrin over his silly bodily function. Granger plopped down next to him, sinking into the couch, but not before jumping back up with a squeaky yelp as her bottom connected against something solid. "What- Oh!" She exhaled a laugh, grabbing the _Building Better Businesses_ book. "You've been reading this? How far into it are you?" The witch flipped through the pages, automatically stopping at the marked page.

Before she had the chance to respond, Draco snatched it away, a scowl set on his face. "Haven't your parents teach you to ask before touching other people's belongings?" He didn't want her to see he used her letter as a bookmark.

"I do believe I _purchased_ this book for you." Granger arched a brow, a tad miffed she wasn't allowed the opportunity to see where in the book he was. She shook it off as a whiff of pan-seared salmon caught her attention.

He turned to look at his food. "It does look quite appetizing."

xxx

Draco patted his belly which protrude just a tad. During the course of their meal, he must have paid the witch several compliments while scarfing down his dinner, forgetting table manners and proper etiquette as he asked if there were seconds and thirds. It'd been quite some time since _anyone's_ cooked for him -he'd forgotten what it was like to have a warm, home cooked meal.

Sleep was next on his agenda, but Granger, of course, had other plans. With a wave of her wand, the dishes floated into the kitchen and out came the sponge and soap, which Draco never knew he had, cleaning the dirty utensils on its own.

She, then, conjured a large white screen hanging down from the ceiling, and an incantation later, a map appeared onto the display, a red dot blinking repeatedly on the center of the screen. "Red dot indicates where the tracker is currently located." Granger sat back down next to Draco, this time a little closer, though she took no notice, staring at the still image. "Looks like... it's still at the bank."

"Right -did I not mention the package was dropped off just a few hours ago?" Draco shrugged, cocking his head towards the side with a not-so-innocent smirk on his face. "I don't know _exactly_ when it'll be picked up."

Granger tucked a stray ringlet behind her ear, pursing her lips. He could see she was a little irked at the misinformation. She'd assumed it was already en route. "So, you mean, the pickup could happen tomorrow or the day after?"

"Possibly -but you don't want to miss out on the big reveal, do you? What if it happens _now_? You would be missing out on the heist of the century." Draco leaned back into the couch, stretching and resting his arms against the top of the cushion. He knew Granger didn't like being left out on things -especially if it was her own idea. Getting her to come over was easy. Not that he wanted her around that much. He just wanted to make sure she felt included, after all the running away she's been doing.

"I highly doubt _of the century_ ," she stifled a laugh, shaking her head side to side, causing her bouncy curls to gracefully follow along with her movements. "But I must say, I'm curious to see where it goes to."

The two of them made idle banter, and their eyes never really left the blip on the screen. There would be moments when he would steal a glance, but as he turned to focus on the red dot, her eyes would trail over, never exactly meeting.

"I...haven't actually looked into location," Draco shifted, pushing himself upwards from the couch, making himself slightly more comfortable while the space between him and Granger grew smaller. His arm, still resting atop the couch cushion, reached across her shoulders now, and his fingers grazed lightly against her curls. "I figured anywhere on the main street in Diagon would be nice."

She nodded. "Agreed. Lots of foot traffic." A pause settled between them as her head twitched to the side, noticing the gentle caress of his digits. A dash of pink spread across her cheeks as she quickly brought up another subject. "The, um, manufacturing company is working on beta designs now. I think in about a week, they'll be ready for testing."

His eyes lit up at the reveal, and Draco smiled, looking down at his lap for a moment. "Yeah? That's great news." His forefinger entwined itself in a single curl, playing with her hair. "I was thinking, perhaps we could get them tested by professional Quidditch players? They'd be able to give us honest feedback and maybe even some publicity."

"I think I can pull some strings." The tinge on her cheeks grew deeper as his ministration continued.

Silence fell between them as their conversation died down. The red blinking light remain unmoved. And, unsure what else to talk about, Granger quickly stammered out, "Maybe-Maybe you can just Floo me whenever you see something moving on the screen?" She glanced over at the blonde, who now looked at her, his brows creased. "It's late -and I didn't...bring any of my work with me." She stood, pulling herself away, and the strand of hair he played with fell back in place with the other locks. A dash of disappointment worked its way across his face, but just as quickly, it faded away as she turned to look at him. "Anyway -it's not like I can get any work done here... I get so... distracted. I don't know why."

* * *

 

Two _very_ long days passed before Hermione heard from Malfoy.

The blonde wizard popped out of her Floo at the joke shoppe, and with no tact, shouted out her surname, nearly scaring the wits out of the busy woman. Her papers scattered all over the office as she looked up, bewildered. Ink spilled on her desk, but she managed to gather herself and spelled it away before the black liquid seeped into any important documents.

Malfoy didn't notice the mess. He was too busy climbing out of the fireplace, his hair was messy, nearly windswept as he was a rush to get to Hermione, but at the moment, his appearance didn't matter -he was much too excited for something else. "The red dot is moving! Let's get a move on!" And without another word, he hopped right back into the Floo and back to his apartment. His head popped in a second later, "Come now!"

She snorted a laugh, covering her mouth before she gathered everything, the papers (even the ones fallen on the ground) stacked themselves nearly into alphabetized piles. Hermione stepped onto the hearth, and with a quick wave of her wand, her 'Out of Office' sign moved itself to the front side of the door. She locked it, just in case Ron decided he was going to ignore her notice -as he often did.

When Hermione arrived at Malfoy's apartment, the man was seen sitting on the edge of his settee with wide eyes staring at the screen. Another amused laugh came from the witch -if he was so enthralled at a slow moving screen on a project, watching a movie would, quite possibly, blow his world. His childlike reaction was refreshing, though. It really humanized the man who was once so cold in Hogwarts.

Her eyes followed when he didn't respond to her presence and carefully seated herself next to him. Though it hadn't been much, the red blinking dot did, indeed, move. A comfortable hush fell as they focused their concentration onto the screen. The map would move a few centimetres before pausing for a moment and moving once more.

Perhaps it was the screen trying to update the dot's new location, or maybe there was some sort of lag due to the great distance between them. Technology and magic hardly ever mixed; Hermione was even amazed that it worked.

After a minute or so of watching the red blip's snail-like pace, it, finally, began to pick up. Actually -it moved across the map at great speed, opposite of what it was once. The streets on the map nearly blurred at its momentum.

Excitement grew between the two as they watched the entire thing unfold. The map would change from time to time, beige and yellow for the roads and blue for the water -most likely rivers or lakes. Hermione conjured a cup of tea for herself while Malfoy followed her action, except he fetched himself a tumbler of scotch. They sipped at their drinks, watching in eager silence, curious where the final destination would be.

But then, the dot stopped. Hermione checked her watch: not even ten minutes passed. She glanced over at Malfoy, now frowning at the screen. Why did it stop suddenly? Perhaps the person was at a light? That couldn't be right -the blip wasn't by an intersection. Perhaps it...reached it's destination? In the middle of the street? On a bridge? That didn't seem right, either.

A minute passed, and still, there was no movement. "Is there anyway we can go...check it out?" It was almost as if he read her mind, but then again, anyone would come to that conclusion; it was the most logical one, after all. "But I don't know if there are any communities we can Apparate into -given that I've never been there -have you?" He peeked over at her for a moment before focusing his attention back onto the blinking blip, just in case it did move again.

"Not really," she pinched her chin, thinking. "Oh -maybe we could create a portkey? It'll help us travel there."

With both brows raised, he peeled his eyes off the screen, "Portkey?" His surprise was warranted as portkeys were usually created through the approval of the Ministry. Doing so illegally would result in some sort of punishment.

But she shrugged in response. "Unless you have little spies in your apartment, there's no _real_ way the Ministry can monitor the creation of a portkey. Plus, it's the fastest way of traveling such great distance."

A crooked grin appeared on Malfoy's lips as he briefly nodded, impressed with her way of thinking. "I've never known a Gryffindor to be so sly. Are my _Slytherin_ _charms_ rubbing off on you?"

* * *

 

The two of them managed to transport themselves onto the streets of New York City, relatively close to where the blinker was located. Granger turned the projector screen into a tiny hand held device tucked away in her pockets. Luckily for them, it was late in the evening, now. No muggles walked the streets, otherwise they would have had to _Obliviate_ them before moving forward.

"Ugh, disgusting." Draco blanched, looking around him, grossed out by how filthy the streets were. From crumpled up newspapers to discarded bottles of liquor, the road had it all. He stood on his toes, carefully trekking his steps, his eyes never leaving the ground. His didn't need to accidentally step on gum and bring it into his apartment. Gross.

Though New York City was known as a busy city, the part of town they were in was, surprisingly, dead. As a precaution, though, Granger cast a protection charm around the surrounding area, deterring any muggles from entering while they conduct their search.

"This seems odd. It can't be a drop point for the money." The curly haired witch _tsked_ as she made her way onto the bridge. The tip of her wand lit from _lumos_.

Draco shrugged at her comment, following suit with his own lighting spell. "Isn't that the point? They don't want to make it obvious." He remained optimistic, though he could tell Granger carried her own doubts. He just wanted an easy end to the whole shindig. This ordeal was already complicated enough. "Maybe the money is hidden under a pile of leaves." Though he suggested it, he wasn't about to go digging into a pile of rotting frond. Nope. His eyes trailed over towards an abandoned trash can on the walkway of the bridge, and he blanches once more. Yeah -that wasn't going to happen. A pureblood would never stoop himself so low as to _dig_ through garbage. _Muggle_ garbage, no less.

With no luck of finding the parcel, Granger changed their search to simply focus on finding the tracking device. The witch tried an assortment of spells, from finding hidden doors to disillusionment charms to transfigured objects. She even managed to force Draco to look under several piles of leaves, and of course, he didn't do it without complaining the entire time.

Frustration was building up between the two of them as he groaned loudly, kicking an empty bottle of beer. He _nox'd_ his wand, and just as he did, a sudden ear piercing shriek blasted and bounced off the invisible barrier, amplifying its sound. Draco nearly dropped his wand, shouting, surprised at the intrusive noise.

Quick to respond, as Granger was probably used to dealing with all sorts of pranks going on at the Weasley's store, she lowered the noise. She kept it loud enough for them to track the gadget, though quiet enough for their ears not to bleed. "Ugh," she frowned, rubbing the tragus of her ear as she followed the noise. "I was not expecting that."

"I'm pretty sure I'm deaf now. I can see why Johnson was so terrified at the noise. Sounds like a fucking banshee coming at you."

She let a 'ha!' slip out of her mouth before covering it up. Though she silenced herself, her eyes laughed, shaping itself into half crescent moons. "It, certainly, scarred her for a while, terrified of all the ghosts at Hogwarts, thinking they were out to get her."

"What?" Draco picked at his ears.

Another chuckle escaped her lips as Granger shook her head, looking down at the ground, trying to find the invisible device. With her wand pointed, she cast the revealing charm. And lo and behold, the tracking gadget was sitting there, still screaming at the two of them as it rapidly blinked on and off. "Well-" She rested her hands on her hips.

Surrounding the tiny apparatus were blots and splatters of siren's ink.

Someone, somehow, figured out their scheme and tampered with it, but not without suffering the consequences first.

 

 


	11. Cashing in PTO

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone. Long time no see and talk! I've had a bit of a rough patch with my life, which kind of had everything turned upside down. I needed the time to readjust to my new-old life.
> 
> I'm not entirely back 100%, but I will try my best to update every so often with Empire and my other stories. I have so many ideas I'd love to see come to life, so rest assured I haven't given up on my project.
> 
> Thanks for being patient with me, and I hope you continue to enjoy this story. :)
> 
> Also, a shout out to Mr. Benzedrine for proofing this. Be sure to check her out, she's got plenty of awesome fics up!
> 
> On a more exciting note: Mr. Benzedrine and I will be going to Harry Potter World in about a week! Eeeee~ I'm super excited. :D

 

Snow poured from the heavens, covering the sidewalk like frosting to a cake. The white slush sparkled under the gentle yellow glow of a lively corner store as it illuminated the, otherwise, dark and silent night.

Above the store was a giant mannequin head who lifted his top hat from his head, revealing an inanimate bunny. Just below, engraved in the window frame, were the words 'Weasley's Wizard Wheezes.' Inside the store were many patrons laughing away the night.

Hermione, Ron, George, and the rest of the gang were all present. Everyone holding _at least_ one glass in their hand, merrily drinking and chatting.

While they were, indeed, inside the joke store, they were far, far away from Diagon Alley. In fact, they were in Dublin, Ireland, celebrating, yet another, opening of Weasley's Wizard Wheezes. This store would mark their eighth opening in just two years.

It was made known, during the Weasley brothers' speeches that it couldn't have happened without Hermione being in the picture. She was, as always, the brains behind the operation.

The bushy-haired witch merely smiled at the toast but kindly declined a speech. She was never great at talking in front of a group of strangers. Hermione held a record of rambling on and on whenever she felt nervous -the third opening of the joke store was proof enough to the gang. What should have been a two to three minute speech turned into a ten minute yawnfest.

Save from their usual group of friends and family, others who attended the celebration were store employees, friends of friends, journalists, and even Ireland's National Parliament officials. The event was invitation only, as they wanted to avoid a horde of enthusiastic customers bombarding on their special time. _That_ was learned during their second grand opening in Birmingham. Regardless of the fact it was a private event, fans still peered through the window panes, watching the festivities go on.

Alongside their celebration, Ron revealed a new item (patented and manufactured in time, thanks for Hermione, again) sold exclusively, for a limited time, in Dublin. To demonstrate the product, Ron popped a red pill-like candy into his mouth and puffed his cheeks. Everyone immediately silenced as they noticed his reddening face, taking a few step back as smoke began to seep out of his flared nostrils.

To show off their new toy, he knelt onto one knee, arching his back and turning his head towards the ceiling, opening his puckered lips, producing a stream of fire so powerful it licked the ceiling..

The crowd stared in awe.

It looked so much like real flame, but the inferno was solely for show. It didn't produce any heat, incapable of causing harm to the fire breather, civilians, and buildings. To prove its harmlessness, Ron exhaled onto George, who bathed in the fake fire. It didn't stop Molly Weasley from gasping 'Ronald!' as it happened; her hands flying over her 'o' shaped mouth.

A round of applause sounded as the fire died out, and George was safe. Molly, the protective mother she was, hugged her older son despite his protest. "You two couldn't think of other ways to show off your new toy? Why do you insist on scaring me to death every single time?" She pestered the two, continuing to hug George while scolding Ron. It didn't matter to Molly how old they were and where they were, but if a lecture was necessary, it was going to be heard.

Hermione giggled behind her champagne glass as she watched the two Weasley brothers whine at their mother. "Mum! You're embarrassing us in front of Ireland's President!" Ron hissed while keeping his best face on in case the Parliament officials were to look over. Luckily, after his stint, the journalists decided to interview them, allowing the two redheads a chance to save face.

"Setting your brother on fire isn't proper!"

"Yeah!" George decided to chime in as Molly turned her attention onto the younger one. "Is this how you say _I love you_? It's no wonder you're still single!"

"Oh, sod off it!" Ron gaped, his face growing as red as his hair. "I'm single because the store takes up so much of my time! Plus, 'Mione and I were together until recently, isn't that right?" His baby blue eyes danced over towards the brunette, who happened to be looking down at her wristwatch, not having heard a single thing. "'Mione!"

She glanced up. "Hmm?"

Like clockwork, Ron went off on a whole different tangent on always being ignored -to which Hermione _purposely_ drowned out. If the redhead excelled at anything, it was definitely complaining.

Hermione looked at her watch once more, then towards the door as it jingled open and shut. Her heart skipped a beat for a moment, hoping to see a particular blonde, but it was only George and Angelina stepping outside for an uninterrupted kiss.

Of course, she'd invited Malfoy to the event. She looked down yet again, but it hadn't even been an entire minute since she last checked the time. A frustrated huff escaped her lips as she emptied her glass of bubbles. The flute refilled itself magically just before she took another sip, not even noticing once her drink was empty.

Since the incident in New York, Malfoy had gone MIA. In fact, it'd been two weeks since she last heard from him. Hermione tried to contact him via owl post several times, but all of her letters, save for the invitation to Dublin's grand opening, were always returned unopened.

Funny how just a few weeks prior, it was Hermione who didn't want to see the blonde. Now, everything was flip flopped. For a moment, she wondered if he worried about her the way she was worrying about him.

Hermione chewed on her lower lip, clicking her nail quietly against the glass. She stared off at the ceiling, watching a charmed paper hippogriff fly around in circles.

It wasn't her fault. The idea of catching the thief with just a mere tracking device was much too easy. The wizard -or witch- was smart enough to get away with stealing money right under Malfoy's nose for so long. The culprit was _definitely_ smarter than they gave him culprit for. But then again, she did play it up a bit. As much as Hermione hated to admit it, she was awfully optimistic about the whole thing. Maybe Malfoy was the same way.

Seeing the disappointed look on his face that night nearly broke her heart.

She got his hopes up for nothing.

Hermione checked her watch for the _n_ th time. It'd been almost two hours since the celebration started. She sighed. He wasn't going to show up. She should just cut her losses and enjoy what was left of the party.

Not a second later, she lifted her wrist and checked the time.

"Hermione." A too familiar voice sounded behind her just as she mentally made a note that only three minutes passed since her last check.

She dropped her arm and turned towards her friend. "Harry."

"Are you alright?"

"What makes you think otherwise?"

His green orbs flittered downward towards her free hand, raising an eyebrow in the process. "I've only seen you check your watch six times in the last five minutes. What's going on?"

Her cheeks flushed as he pointed out her not so subtle action.

"Um," she started, tucking a stray hair behind her ear. "I was expecting someone, but I guess he isn't showing up." Hermione quickly took a sip of her drink as she hid her disappointment behind the glass.

A faint nod came her way as he kept quiet, watching her, observing his friend's micro expressions. Harry rarely missed a thing, especially when it came to his best friend. "Well," he started, noting her hesitancy to mention more. "Why not join the group and enjoy the rest of the night, then?"

Harry held his arm out towards Hermione, sending her a crooked smile.

"That sounds lovely."

* * *

Draco sat in his living room, sunken into the couch with his legs propped up onto the coffee table. In one hand, he nursed a glass of scotch, while the other held an invitation which invited him to a private party held in Dublin, Ireland in celebration of yet another joke shoppe opening.

He considered going, but _why_ would he want to torture himself by being surrounded by a bunch of prideful Gryffindors and their weird friends? Then again, he had been considering on _actually_ attending for the past several hours, (Malfoys loved to show up fashionably late. Something about all the attention on them,) he just really _didn't_ feel like going.

Okay, so maybe there was some benefits to attending, like... networking, for one. Since he and Granger were _pretty much_ starting a business together, meeting others in the same industry and getting insights was a rather important ordeal. Ugh, but he _really didn't want to do it_. He didn't want to talk and make nice with strangers. He didn't feel like plastering his face with a feigned smile, and he _really_ didn't want to be around the Golden Boy.

_Hello?_ It's been nearly five years since the war ended. People who knew of his name were still going _ooh_ and _aah_ every time they saw him.

Get over it.

A pang of jealousy pinched at his chest, but he quickly drowned it away by emptying out his drink. Draco scrunched his face a little as the bitter taste lingered longer than usual.

He stared at the card, sneering at it before crumbling the cardstock into a ball and tossing it into the fireplace. The hearth crackled as it consumed the paper.

So much for moving forward past his pity party. One _fucking_ screw up with the stupid tracking gadget thing and he was back to square one. Draco should have known better than to put all of his eggs in one basket. Now, their lead was back to zero. Zilch. Nada. Nothing. Even Madoff was completely useless now. Gone from his company. The fatass even packed up his family and belongings and left the country. Though, if he really wanted, Draco probably could have just tracked him down. It wasn't like the man was difficult to find. But, _ugh_ , he was already so tired of everything.

He just wanted to give up.

Draco conjured another helping of scotch, topping it all the way to the brim. It wasn't like he was sharing the drink with anyone else. He took a large swig of the alcohol.

How many days passed since he left the apartment?

He glanced around, noticing the unkempt mess around his loft: papers, clothes, and furniture pieces thrown all over the place from his frustration after the muck up.

With a frustrated sigh, he muttered to his drink, "Just you and me tonight."

* * *

Hermione sat in front of a familiar looking man. Cattermole. He'd sent an owl to both her and Malfoy several days back, requesting a meeting about finalizing everything for the company.

As soon as she received the letter, she sent a correspondence to her partner, making sure he was aware of the meeting's importance. And of course, her owl returned rather miffed, holding out the same letter she with sent him, unopened.

Regardless, she hoped Malfoy would show up.

But her fears were confirmed when it was fifteen past their scheduled appointment. The older man started to rap his fingers against the table, checking the clock every few seconds. Occasionally, Cattermole would flip through the thick folder of paperwork as if he needed to make sure there were no missing documents.

The witch muttered an apology to him after another five minutes passed. "Something must have happened for him to miss this." Hermione tried to run a finger through her bushy hair, only to get it tangled in the mess. "He knows how important this meeting is."

Cattermole cleared his throat, twisting his wedding ring around his finger. "Of course," he nodded. The man worked with Hermione plenty of times, knowing she was a hard and dedicated worker. The apology didn't go unnoticed. "I do have another meeting in ten minutes. How about you just send me an owl whenever you two are ready to sign the papers?"

Hermione nodded, her cheeks reddening from embarrassment. "Again, I'm sorry."

"Miss Granger," the man gave her a sympathetic smile. "These things happen. Just make sure you get these signed by the end of the week?" He tapped at the folder. "The offer won't stay open forever."

"Thank you," she muttered, standing from her seat. "I will owl you soon." She gave Cattermole a quick handshake before scurrying out of the office with her head ducked low. Hermione clicked the door shut behind her. " _Malfoy_!" she hissed between gritted teeth and bee lined towards the Atrium before Apparating out.

xxx

She appeared outside of the Leaky Cauldron and entered, stomping towards the stairs without even a hello to Tom, who was sweeping the ground floor. Hermione stalked upstairs, turning the corner, and banged against the door of the absent blonde's apartment.

Hermione _would have_ simply Floo'd into his loft, had things been easy, but since being acquainted with Malfoy, nothing came easy. The damned blonde _ferret_ shut her out, pissed their plans didn't work out.

When she was greeted with silence, Hermione banged furiously on the wooden frame with both fists in succession. To add to the symphony, she added in an annoyed scowl, "Draco Lucius Malfoy!" There was a certain hitch in her voice as she announced his full name, hopefully, telling him she wasn't in the mood to be trifled with.

Silence, again.

"I know you're in there -open the door. _Right now_."

"Unless you are my _mother_ , I highly recommend you bugger off."

Hermione could _literally_ hear the Malfoy scowl on the other side of the door. "You missed the meeting, today." Her voice calmed just a smidge -though, not by much.

"What of it?"

"Cattermole was going to have us sign the rest of the paperwork." She folded her arms across her chest as she leaned against the wooden door with a slight thud. "This would have finalized everything we worked so hard for." Hermione secretly hoped her comment would cheer him up just a tad, if anything.

"Are you sure it's not just another ploy to bring up my hopes and have it get all trampled over with?"

"What?" She gasped, her brows furrowing. "That's not fair, Malfoy! You knew my idea wasn't entirely fool proof."

"You can rest assure that you've definitely made a fool of me." There was a pause as she heard a shuffle from the other side of the door, and, for a moment, she thought the wizard was going to open the door for her. Then, she felt a quick zap as a charm vibrated from the other side. Hermione shoved herself off the door with a yip, rubbing her shoulder in an attempt to get rid of the uncomfortable tingly sensation.

* * *

Granger left shortly after Draco decided the best way to get rid of her incessant nagging was to merely inflict physical shocks. After that, the day continued to pass by slowly as he continued to nurse his glass tumbler. This time, it was filled with bourbon.

Draco simply wasted away his day, much like all the other days before this one...and before he and Granger got together to work on that silly plan of hers. He made himself comfortable on the couch with his head sunken in between the cushions and his legs propped up just like before the damned witch decided it was her job to bother him.

His inspiration was drained.

What was the point of all this if he was just going to lose everything?

The damned mudblood fed him false hope, making him think things could change. But in reality, Draco was doomed to fail, just like his father failed during the War. Perhaps, it was just a Malfoy curse, now -to be losers for the rest of their sorry arse lives.

He rolled his eyes at his own thoughts, for a moment, realizing just how melodramatic he was being. But his mind continued to feed him poison, just like how he continued to feed himself alcohol -to numb the pain and forget everything else.

Suddenly, Draco woke to, yet another, knock on the door.

The blonde sat up straight; the glass, once filled with expensive bourbon, had spilled onto his chest at some point during his passout. The dried liquid stained his white satin shirt.

When did he fall asleep?

He batted his eyes a few times, trying to blink away the sleepiness. The knock echoed through the silent room once more, reverberating loudly in his head as he felt a hangover creep over him.

"I swear to _Merlin's fucking ballsack_ , Granger, did you not get that I don't want you around?" Draco shouted at the door, pinching the bridge of his nose as he sat up, setting his feet down onto the floor.

"Is that how you talk to your best mate?" a familiar voice muffled back. It was definitely not Granger.

With a groan and a quick spell, Draco rid the alcohol stain from his still not-so-clean attire and trudged his way towards the door. Quite honestly, he didn't care of Blaise saw him in this state -disheveled hair, stubbles, and dark rings around his eyes. The Italian had seen him in less respectable ways than this.

Draco swung the door open, a scowl etched into his thin, cracked lips. His friend stood before him, hands in pocket with an arched brow as he stared at the blonde. The corner of Blaise's lips twitched ever so slightly. "You smell ripe, mate."

"No one asked for your _sodding_ opinion."

"Perhaps you need another's opinion if you're going to want company around."

"Who ever said anything about want-" Draco's question was cut short as Blaise stepped to the side while giving his friend an apologetic shrug. Behind the tall Italian was an annoyed bushy-haired witch.

He glanced over at Granger then towards Blaise, his eyes widening in surprise as his jaw unhinged. "Since when did you start cohorting with the enemy?" He pointed rudely at the witch, who quickly smacked away his hand.

"Oh -I see. It must be so easy to just... _switch_ sides when it's convenient for you, huh?" Draco sneered at the comment, but the woman continued. "Just when things don't go the way you want it to, suddenly I'm the bad guy?" Granger glanced over towards Blaise, giving him a quick 'thank you' before turning her attention back towards Draco. "Would you like a reminder of all the things I've done for you so far?"

Draco snapped his jaw shut, sending a glare towards Blaise as Granger went on some sort of spiel, listing off _every single little thing_ she'd done thus far. The Italian shrugged once more before he turned away and skipped down towards the bar.

Without skipping a beat, the witch invited herself into the apartment. She shook her head, placing her hands on her hips, glancing over towards the exhausted blonde with a look of disapproval over his living conditions.

"This won't do. We're going to need a change of scenery if we're going to get _anything_ done today." She grabbed his arm and without giving him the opportunity to reject her idea, Granger Side-Along Apparated the two of them elsewhere.


	12. Past Assessment

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi Everyone! Thank you for all the kind words and wonderful review! It's a little difficult getting back into writing after being on hiatus for so long, but I'm getting back into the groove of things, now! :)
> 
> Thanks to Mr. Benzedrine for the proofs, and I can't wait to see you again on Thursday! It's going to be a hell of a weekend. :D :D

 

 

In a blink of an eye, Draco and Granger arrived at their destination -his home.

He stared, with wide eyes, at the manor. His jaw was unhinged in awe as he tentatively stepped forward, unsure whether this was all a dream or not. Then again... Draco had been drinking quite a bit -perhaps it was really a dream. He turned to the witch and pinched her arm.

"Ow!" She snapped, jerking herself away from him, rubbing the sore spot. "What was that for?"

"I just wanted to make sure I wasn't dreaming."

Granger scowled, "You don't pinch me. You pinch yourself, prat."

That was silly -why would he want to pinch himself? He didn't need a red welt on his flawless skin. Plus, Draco used to have dreams, or rather nightmares, where he was injured and in pain. It was always too real, and those inflicting harm were often impervious to affliction. It started after the War began, but he kept it quiet. After all, dreams were only dreams.

In any case, he needed to see if the witch was capable of just that. But, he shrugged it off, ignoring her comment.

"Why are we here?" Draco turned away from Granger to look at the house once more. Home. "Actually, how are we able to even get this close?"

The manor was seized by the Ministry not too long after the War. Towards the end of the movement, it was used as the headquarters for the Dark Lord's misdeeds. The government officials made an authorized statement to the public, letting it be known, since it was used as a main base, it was necessary to usurp the house -for further investigations on the murders and kidnappings of victims of war.

It wasn't as if Draco had much say about the incident. He was only a minor then. The deed to the house was still under his father's name, who was in Azkaban for an undisclosed amount of time.

Though, they did defect towards the end... Draco thought bitterly as he approached the front door.

In all honesty, Draco had no idea whether they were able to find anything or not. Even so, the War was over. What else could they do with whatever new information popped up? The updates stopped coming in a year after the War ended, and by that time, Draco was far too gone to even care anymore.

At least, until now.

"I was able to pull some strings," Granger commented as she Alohamora'd the door. The lock from the other side clicked ajar. "...Well, Harry mostly," she, then, muttered under her breath, covering it with a fake cough and, quickly, changed the subject. "Are you really going to be okay with living above the Leaky Cauldron for the rest of your life?"

She pushed the door open, allowing Draco to enter first. He looked around in the foyer. Save from the absence of life, nothing had changed since he moved out. Not even a speck of dust out of place.

There was another click of the door relocking itself as the witch reapplied the original spell.

"...No-" His confession ended all too soon as a lump was caught in his throat, and a wave of nostalgia, suddenly, washed over him. He cleared his throat, covering his mouth with a balled up fist and looking away.

It was far too long since he had last seen his home.

Draco made way towards the end of the hallway, which led to another giant set of closed doors. He pushed it opened, and they entered the ballroom. His mother always loved hosting dinners, functions, and simple parties here. If he wasn't in his room or the library, he was here, socializing with all the other pureblood aristocrats of the world.

He closed his eyes, taking in a deep breath. Draco could still smell the hints of lemon spritz and pine. His mother really loved keeping the house fragrant, and it was still apparent, even after all these years of abandonment.

After a few moments passed, he sighed, finally releasing the breath he'd held in -afraid to let go of the familiarity. "You were able to convince the Ministry to let us come through?" The blonde turned towards the witch, who looked mighty out of place.

The last time Granger was here, she was captured by snatchers and tortured. It, certainly, wasn't a pleasant memory, that was for sure. She was brave to even step through the doors. The Manor always had some sort of foreboding presence on non-Purebloods or opponents of war.

She shifted her weight from side to side.

He noticed she'd been massaging her left arm. He'd only seen it a few times -the scar left by his Aunt Bellatrix was still there.

_Mudblood._

"Yes, though for just an hour," she responded without ever looking at Draco. "I figured it would help snap you out of your ... predicament." Granger took a deep breath, though he was sure it was more to calm her nerves than it was to smell the refreshing air.

"I miss this place," he whispered, walking out of the ballroom and into the kitchen. Spotless as usual.

There was a twist in his chest as he peeked through each room with an uncharacteristically quiet witch always just a few steps behind him.

Finally, Draco entered the drawing room. He used to hang out with his friends here when they were still in school. When everything hadn't gone to shite. When everything was still right. But now, the room was filled with only dread and terrible memories. He'd only been in there for a moment while Granger waited outside; her eyes looked everywhere else but the room itself.

They returned to the ballroom, and Draco conjured two chairs for them. "You know," he started, breaking the silence. "Since the war ended, you've had it... pretty easy." He gestured towards the chair as he took a seat. The two of them sat side by side, staring into the vast nothingness of the grand room. He could still imagine it when he closed his eyes-the music, the food, the laughter. The memories of his childhood engraved in him.

Granger made a point to scoff at his comment but allowed him to continue. After all, this visit was for him.

"Being a war heroine, people dote on you. You have the opportunity to do things you never would have imagined. You get to be an inspiration and to be a part of history -the side everyone cares about, anyway. You, Potter, and Weasel will be the talk of the talk for generations to come." Draco leaned against the splat of the chair as another sigh escaped his lips. He watched Granger as she stared at her feet.

"It's not all fun and games, Malfoy," she murmured. It was odd seeing the, usually, confident witch act so...meek. It was unbecoming.

"I'm aware," he shifted in his seat, crossing his legs. "But you have your family, and then you have friends who you can also call family. You're set for life. Hell, your future children are set for life. They're going to get the best of everything life has to offer."

Things were easy for Draco once, before Voldemort came back into the picture. He and his family were on top of the world, though he was sure people feared his family rather than look up to them. But -it was better then than now.

"I get it. Sometimes people expect too much from you three, but it's the price to pay for saving the world."

A faint laugh came from Granger as she tucked her frizzy locks behind her ear. "Tell me about it. Just the other day, the Prime Minister asked us to attend a gala -just so we can stand there and look pretty and seem important -blah, blah, blah."

For a moment, a smirk was stretched across his lips, but it disappeared, quickly. "Would you have it any other way?"

"What do you mean?"

"Would you rather your family be imprisoned in Azkaban for the rest of their sorry arse lives? Or, perhaps, you'd rather your home seized and be living above a damned noisy pub for years on end? Because they're the only ones who would take you in? Or..." Draco paused, "be without allies, stripped down to essentially nothing and be looked down upon."

He swallowed, all the while clenching his jaw. "I am trying, Granger. To be a better man -to live an honest life. To not be like my father." There was another pause as he turned away from the witch, ashamed to look at her. "But, sometimes, it's easier to just give up."

"I know," her voice was quiet. "I know what it's like to just give up. Wouldn't it be nicer to just let someone else do all the work?"

Draco nodded at her comment.

"But life wasn't designed to be easy. Life is filled with challenges, with turmoil, with hardship -because when you are able to overcome those bumps in the road and press on -when you can finally reach the end of the tunnel, it'll be that much more satisfying."

She stood from her seat, moving it so she sat across from him now. Their eyes met for a moment before he decided the ceiling was much more interesting.

"You are not your father, and I know things haven't been easy for you these past few years. I know you're working so hard to make a better life for yourself." From the corner of his eyes, he noticed her blazing stare. "But you're not alone. You seem to always forget that. When things don't go your way, it's, like, you're twelve all over again, throwing a fit and demanding things to be changed, threatening to tell your father if it doesn't go your way."

**xxx**

Malfoy scoffed at the comment, rolling his eyes.

Hermione ignored him, continuing on with her speech. "Yes, this isn't something you want to hear, but someone has to call you out on it. Let's just say it's a hypothetical slap across the face." She smiled a tad. "The world doesn't revolve around Draco Malfoy. He's just a normal man now, and he has to work -just like everyone else- to make something of himself. Hell, even I still work, and I'm a bloody war heroine."

"Humble," he muttered, finally turning to look at her.

"I've been told," her smile widened at his comment. "I understand things are difficult at the moment, but if you keep pushing through and hold your head up high and be humble, then you'll learn that the tough times are impermanent. They don't last forever, and you'll get through this." She stood from her seat once more, taking a step towards him. "And I'm here to help you." The witch tugged on her glove, slipping it off and shoving it into the pocket of her robe. Hermione, then, held her hand out towards Malfoy. "I am your partner, after all. We did sign the papers."

The blonde stared at her with a contemplating expression then gave a chuckle -a genuine one. He pinched the bridge of his nose, squeezing his eyes shut. "You won't leave me alone unless I do, right?"

"It's the lioness in me."

"Ah...fucking Gryffindors, loyal until the end." Malfoy plastered on his charming smirk -the same one that had all the schoolgirls swooning over him when they were still in school- and reached out his hand, grasping hers tightly.

The corner of her lips twitched as her smile widened at the touch of their hands. For once, a comfortable silence lingered between the two of them. Since their last incident -the kiss- things hadn't been quite the same. Hermione was always rushing to leave his side, making excuses, terrified she was going to say (or do) something stupid.

A moment passed as their hands continued to stay locked in each other's. His grip loosened as the pad of his thumb gently caressed her skin. His grey eyes stared deeply into hers: piercing and hypnotizing. Hermione couldn't look away.

Then, when another moment went by, he finally spoke up. "I'm sorry for shocking you." Malfoy dropped his hand, resting it on his lap. "Honestly, I was just frustrated. No one's ever tried as hard as you to keep my attention."

Hermione had always been aware of the difference between the two of them -and even, in a broader sense, between Gryffindors and Slytherins- but she never realized how lucky she was to have friends who she could call family. In fact, they were closer to her than her biological kin. Save from Blaise, who recently reappeared in his life, Malfoy didn't have anyone else to turn to.

She couldn't imagine what life would be like had she lost Ron or Harry. Or the both of them.

"Yes, well, I can be annoying like that," Hermione pursed her lips, recounting her first year at Hogwarts, before the Golden Trio became just that. Harry and Ron often complained (and they weren't exactly subtle about it) on how she was butting into their bromance, but after the troll incident during Halloween, the three of them became inseparable. "Just so you know, if you ever try to pull something like that again, I won't be so nice next time."

"Duly noted."

Another smile appeared across her lips as she pulled back the sleeve of her robe, glancing down at her wristwatch. "Well -I think our hour is just about up."

Malfoy stood as she made the comment and straighten out the ruffle in his clothes. "Thank you...for this." The wizard gestured to the ballroom. "It's nice to be back home, even if it's just for a little bit." He inhaled deeply, as if it was going to be the last time he visited. Then again, who knows how much more time would pass before he got another opportunity to return. "One day... I'll get this place back."

"I'm sure you will," Hermione whispered, looking up at the blonde. Their eyes met, and suddenly, she found their shoes quite interesting. Her fingers twitched, tempted to reach out to him once more. She didn't understand it, but...whenever they touched, she always felt rather at peace. Ironic, since he was the boy who always made fun of her in school.

As if he was reading her mind, Malfoy pulled her hand into his once more. "I know I'm rather the prat at times-" Hermione laughed, a bit too loudly as her heart skipped a beat. The blonde glared at her, "-but I'm pretty grateful you're as stubborn as they come."

With his free hand, Malfoy tucked the same strand of obstinate hair behind her ears. The back of his finger traced lightly along her jawline, and she could immediately feel her cheeks reddening. The silence was too apparent. Hermione could hear her heartbeat echoing loudly in her ears, and the rise and fall of her chest was too obvious.

How did he remain so cool?

She chewed on her lower lip as he bore his eyes into hers, noticing the space between them growing smaller. He dipped his head in ever so slightly, his eyelids heavy.

Was this really going to happen -again?

Was she ready for it this time? Even after everything that had happened recently?

But then again, why would she try so hard to keep him in her life if she wasn't? Hermione mentally prepared herself -then made a promise to herself to not get all awkward again this next time around.

Hermione closed her eyes, leaning in towards him. This was it. They were going to kiss again! She could feel the heat of his breath brushing against her sensitive skin-

"'Mione?"

Her name echoed through the vast ballroom, the sound bouncing off the hollow walls, and quickly, the two of them scrambled away from each other, a good meter away.

The frazzled witch readjusted her attire, though there was no reason to. She felt...ruffled up, is all. Hermione cleared her throat, "In here!"

A silhouette appeared through one of the many doors which led into the grand room. The man's hair stuck up every which way and a faint glint reflected off the lenses of his spectacles as he enter. "'Mione, your hour is up -I've got to get this place closed before anyone else notices the wards have been disabled." Harry stopped as he came into view. His eyes never left his best friend, though the other person's presence was quite apparent.

Hermione smiled widely, though she could only imagine a deep scowl on Malfoy's face, being interrupted at such a pivotal moment. She, on the other hand, was a little relieved. Her nervousness got her all worked up. "Yes, we were just getting ready to Apparate out." And with a little too much bounce in her walk towards Harry, Hermione gave her best friend a great big hug. "Thank you -so much, again, for doing this for me."

"You know I'd do anything for you," he said, returning the hug. He squeezed her just a little, dropping his voice, "but I do expect an explanation later." If Harry was good at anything, it was knowing when to seek out information and when to play the part.

Hermione had asked for a favor earlier involving allowing her to enter the Malfoy Manor, which everyone and their mum's knew she hated. She'd also asked not to interrogate her just yet as time was of the essence.

Needless to say, seeing Draco Malfoy with her was definitely a surprise.

"Malfoy," Harry piped up, looking over towards the disheveled blonde as he released his best friend.

"Potter." Hermione could hear the bitterness in the way the Slytherin said his name. There was a heavy pause between the men as she looked at the two. Malfoy puffed out his chest and straightened out his back, seemingly taller than the Auror. "I suppose I have you to credit for allowing us this visit."

Oh! Hermione's cheeks reddened, again. So he did hear what she said through her cough.

"A favor for a dear friend," Harry nodded, noting that was just about as good as a 'thank you' he was going to get out of Malfoy. He cleared his throat, putting on his best authoritative facade, "I don't mean to be hasty, but I must ask you two to leave so I can reactivate the wards." His green orbs danced between Hermione and the blonde.

"Of course, we'll just get out of your hair." Hermione stated, gesturing towards the taller wizard.

"It was, uh, good seeing you, Malfoy." Harry held out his hand towards Malfoy as they made their way towards the foyer.

The blonde paused and stared down at the Auror's hand, arching a delicate brow as if he contemplated on whether he should or shouldn't accept his hand. Then, surprisingly, Malfoy gripped his hand with a terse shake before dropping it. "Likewise."

Hermione nearly jumped with glee until she noticed the subtle wipe of Draco's hand on his pants after the shake.

Even then, it was a huge stepping stone between the two of them. Could this be some sort of new bond between the two childhood enemies?

Something she'd definitely have to tell Ginny later on!

 


	13. Interrogation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: First of all, for everyone who's curious - Harry Potter world was SO MUCH FUN. I bought myself a Slytherin robe, two Slytherin scarves, a Luna Lovegood wand (I'm half Ravenclaw!), two pygmy puffs, and a scabbers. Some other things here and there, but they're not all that important. I'll say one thing for sure is that I didn't want to leave after the trip. I could live there. HP world is magical and everyone needs to go AT LEAST once in their life!
> 
> I really enjoyed writing this chapter. It's more so 'focused' on Blaise than anyone else, but still relevant. :)
> 
> Thank you Mr. Benzedrine for being an awesome companion and proofing!

 

 

They retired back to Malfoy's flat, and the wizard, having realized his current state of _grossness_ , immediately announced he was jumping into the shower. Right before disappearing beyond the realms of his bedroom, the wizard's blonde head popped back out, staring at the witch, who stood awkwardly in the living room, wondering what to do. "Erm, make yourself at home."

Hermione blinked at Malfoy, returning a curt nod as he retreated back into his room. She looked about the loft, pursing her lips as her chocolate orbs bounced from one mound of cluttered junk to the next. Malfoy really did a number on this place in just a few shorts weeks.

While it wasn't quite her place to tidy up his loft, Malfoy _did_ say to make herself at home. What better way to do so than with cleaning up the messy abode?

With a quick swish of her vine wood wand, she grouped up the mess, gathering it into a tight ball floating in the midst of the air, compacting each other tightly before it fell back onto the wooden floor with a loud thump. The deck vibrated and groaned against the weight of the sudden drop. Another gesture from Hermione's wand, and the dense garbage popped away into the abyss.

The room was noticeably cleaner, though, if it were up to Hermione, she would have done some further redecorating and deep cleaning.

Well, just a little bit wouldn't hurt, right?

The witch pointed her arsenal at the rug, which rested under the coffee table, just in front of the fireplace. The Egyptian carpet was stained with what was obviously spilled alcohol from the wizard and his friend's drunken shenanigans. Hermione rolled her eyes. Funny how months before Malfoy had snapped at her for nearly ruining the _expensive_ piece of decor, but he was allowed to treat it anyway he pleased. A slight tap from her wand, and the stains were easily removed.

In just a few minutes, Hermione managed to not only dust away all the grime and soot gathering on window sills and cabinets, but she also _magically_ washed all the dishes and realigned the furniture just a smidge.

"Just one more touch," she muttered to herself, holding her wand up in the air. " _Per fumum_." A fine mist sprayed from the tip of her stick, and a light and pleasant smell filled the room. Hermione inhaled deeply, puffing her chest out as she took in the scent, and tucked away her weapon. "Ahh... much better!"

A smile sat on her lips as she nodded to herself, satisfied.

Now what?

_Ah,_ yes. She held her index finger up in the air, making way towards the dining table. Once she was there, Hermione conjured two sheets of parchment and some ink and quill. She took a seat on the wooden oak chair, her lips pursed again in deep concentration.

_Mister Cattermole,_

_Thank you for taking time out of your day to schedule a meeting with Draco Malfoy and myself. I, sincerely, apologize for the hiccup in yesterday's plans. Though, after speaking with Mister Malfoy himself, I believe we are ready to set up another appointment._

_Please let us know when you will be available next._

_As usual, the sooner the better._

_Regards,_

_Hermione Granger_

She blew lightly on the ink, trying to hasten the drying process while reading over the short letter to the Ministry worker. Though, Hermione didn't _actually_ have a talk with Malfoy over any of their business plans, she was sure he was back on the same page as she was.

If Hermione could pick one thing (out of her many, many pet peeves), procrastinating would be it. Postponing and delaying things _always_ drove her insane. She didn't understand how (especially) Harry and Ron were able to get away being so calm about cramming the night before a big exam. Had she lived the way they did, Hermione would have been as bald as her pygmy puff -who she conveniently named Baldy.

She pressed her finger against the paper, checking its dryness, and when it was dry enough, she rolled up the paper, spelling it stay in its scrolled form. Hermione, then, opened the door to Bubo Bubo's room, to which she rolled her eyes. Who would give their owl its own room?

The Malfoys, of course.

"Hello," she smiled, pleasantly at the middle aged bird.

Its giant orange eyes blinked boredly at the witch as she entered the room.

"I have a delivery that needs to be sent to Cattermole at the Ministry of Magic. Could you do this one job for me?" Hermione held up the scroll while her unoccupied hand reached towards the eagle owl's head, petting and massaging it gently.

The avian's eyes shut in content as it gave Hermione a pleasant hoot and stuck out its right leg, waiting for the parchment to be attached.

"Thank you." Hermione quickly latched on the letter to bird and pushed the window open. A crisp gust of winter air pushed its way through, sending slight chills down her spine. "Feel free to give the correspondence to your master upon your return."

Bubo Bubo hooted at the witch, bidding her farewell before flying out towards its destination. Hermione kept the window cracked open in case the owl was to return quickly while Malfoy was still home.

Quiet air filled the loft as Hermione entered the sitting room, shutting the office door quietly behind her. Just as she was about to sit down onto the couch, she checked her watch and, much to her surprise, it was nearly ten in the morning!

As much as she would like to sit down and take a break, even if for just a moment, Hermione still had to show up to work, even if it was Saturday.

With Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes grand opening in Ireland, there had been more work than ever for Hermione. That's not to say the other two redheaded brothers didn't have work, but just... Hermione had _so much_ she was a few minutes short of falling behind schedule.

She made way towards the dining table once more, scribbling down a note for Malfoy:

_Headed to work. Lots of paperwork to catch up on. I'll be there most of the day. If you need me, the Floo is open._

_-H_

_P.S. I wrote a letter to Cattermole and sent Bubo Bubo off (hope you don't mind). Should he respond with a time and date for a follow up appointment, please inform me as well. We need to get this done ASAP!_

Satisfied with her note (Merlin forbid she misspelled something), she slipped on her robe and exited through the front door of Draco's flat.

Though she could have used the Floo to get her to work faster, she had another quick pit stop to make before heading in. Hermione quickly pattered down the steps, each foot moving quickly in front of the other while her hand gripped lightly along the rail, in case she slipped and fell.

Once she reached the bottom of the steps, she looked about Leaky Cauldron, hoping to scout out a familiar face.

Since she and Malfoy were at the Manor for only an hour, Hermione anticipated Zabini was still downstairs at the pub, at...she checked her watch again, nine-forty. Well, she huffed a little, blinking a few times, hopefully he wasn't sloshed. At nine-forty... In the morning.

It wasn't difficult finding the Italian as he was one of the few customers lounging about. Leaky wasn't much known for its breakfast, though they did offer meals at all hours. More often than not, witches and wizards came by the hole-in-the-wall after work to unwind and socialize with others.

"Zabini-" Hermione greeted the wizard as she approached his table.

The Slytherin alumnus looked up from his paper, The Daily Prophet, and arched his brow before sitting on his hot coffee. "Blaise," he corrected.

"Right," she responded tersely, "Blaise." There was a pause as she stood in front of the table, staring down at the wizard, who turned his attention back towards his reading. Well, it seemed like he wasn't going to offer her a seat. "I don't want to bother you-" Hermione started.

"You woke me up at seven-thirty," he looked at her once more, a bored expression on his face. "What's another bother, yeah?"

Her cheeks reddened as Zabini brought up the event this morning. For a moment, her mind drifted back to when she was trying to get Malfoy's attention. When she wasn't able to, she decided the next best option was to seek assistance from his friend, not having considered the time (which, seven-thirty wasn't all _that_ early, at least for those who worked) and didn't realize Zabini was still sleeping.

Well, let's say Zabini ended up greeting the witch, after being woken up by their house elf, without a shirt and lounge pants that were barely hanging on to his narrow hips. Needless to say, the usual confident and chatty witch was rendered speechless and not knowing where to look.

"Granger?" the Italian snapped her out of her daydream or whatever one would call it, with a wide and cocky smirk etched across his face as he studied her expression. "Caught in a fantasy, are we?"

She scoffed and rolled her eyes, looking away from the wizard to still her thumping heart -not that it was beating rapidly for him; rather, she was surprised he realized _what_ she was thinking of. "Yes, um, thank you," she muttered, running a hand up and down her arm nervously. "It means a great deal to me, and hopefully Malfoy won't throw a fit at you for _cohorting_ with the enemy."

His smirk was replaced with a more genuine smile at her comment. "Don't worry, I know how to fend off a snake."

Hermione exhaled a laugh from her nostrils. "Yes, well, try not to get bitten." She pulled back the sleeves of her robe and checked the time. Fifteen more minutes to spare before heading out. She had a little time to spare before clocking in for work. After not being invited to sit at Zabini's table, she took matters into her own hands, "Do you mind if I join you? I'd like to get a quick bite in before heading off to work."

With his wand, Zabini pulled out the empty seat from underneath the table and gestured it towards the witch. Then, he raised his arm, his pointer finger quickly tapping the air twice, getting the morning waitress's attention.

The barmaid stifled a yawn behind her hand before heading over towards the two acquaintances, handing a menu to Hermione. There was a bored and tired look on the woman's face, the corner of her lips dipped into a slight frown, and her auburn hair was stringy, sticking out every which way under her hat. "Can I get you anything to drink?" Even her voice was a monotone bore; it reminded Hermione all too much of a certain Potions professor back in the days.

"Water, please."

Without another word, the woman turned away, levitating a glass and a pitcher of water towards their table. The cup set itself onto the wooden stand, and the pitcher angled itself just enough for the clear liquid to be poured into the glass. Once it was just a few centimetres off from being completely filled, the jug straightened itself out once more and floated back to where it was once.

"Do you need more time to order?"

Hermione scanned through the menu, holding a finger up, signaling 'just a moment' to the woman. "Yes. Bangers and mash, please." Something quick and easy to scarf now.

The barmaid nodded and with a sigh, turned away and sauntered off towards the kitchen to place the brunette's order.

Hermione was left alone with Zabini once more; this time a weird uncomfortable silence hovered between them while ambient noise filled the rest of the pub.

He stared at her, entertained by her fidgeting.

She ran her fingers through her hair, tucking a strand behind her ear -a habit, nervous and not. "What, uh, what are you reading?" She pointed with her chin, towards the newspaper which was still grasped in his hands.

Zabini glanced towards his reading material. "Mmm, just whatever is on the Prophet: Muggle Field Trip Accidentally Stumbles into Diagon Alley, Prisoners Out for Early Release," he paused to take a breath, the corner of his lips twitching every so slightly. "Is Butterbeer _Actually_ Unhealthy? What Are Your Intentions with my Best Mate?, New Discovery: Too Much U-No-Poo Makes You Explode."

"What?" Hermione furrowed her brows at the Italian wizard, tilting her head towards the side. The stubborn strand of hair she tucked behind her ear popped out. "Wait," she grabbed the paper away from Zabini, (who muttered, 'No, go ahead. I wasn't using that.') all of the cordiality flying out of the window. "What are you talking about U-No-Poo making you explode? After I joined Ron and George, I _made sure_ all of our products didn't have any long term effects or caused damage to the customer's well being-" Hermione looked up briefly. "At least, death-wise."

Zabini snorted at her comment and leaned back into his seat, folding his arms across his chest, waiting for the metaphorical light bulb to go off in her head.

Then, it hit her.

"Wait-" she said again. This time, joining her creased brows was a frown to match. "My intentions with Draco?" Hermione set the paper down in front of her, careful not to get it wet with the condensation pooling around the base of her drink.

"Ah, there it is," Zabini nodded, holding his hands out, clapping quietly at the witch, mocking her. "Always so quick to pick up on... _subtleties_."

"What do you mean my intentions?"

"Need I elaborate?" He cocked a brow, looking at the witch with patience. When he didn't receive an answer, he sighed. "Very well. Let's see how I can break this down for you to understand: you and Draco. Spending lots and lots and lots of time together. More than you ever have, well, ever." Zabini stopped to look at the waitress, who brought Hermione her steaming plate of food. "Refill, please."

"Thank you," Hermione muttered, staring down at her food.

The older woman nodded, pointing her wand towards a metal mug filled with piping hot coffee. Like the pitcher of water earlier, the drink poured itself. "Anything else?"

They both shook their heads.

As the barmaid left, Hermione looked down at her watch. Four minutes passed. Eleven more to go. Just eleven more minutes of nosey Zabini, before she could skip away to work.

"The two of you never once exchanged words to each other -without it almost breaking out into a fight with your two bodyguards," he looped his fingers through the handle of the cup, lifting it up to his nose and inhaled at the scent. "Don't think I forgot about what happened during our third year: a punch to Draco's nose." He grinned behind the mug. "So, why the sudden change of heart?"

She shoved a spoonful of mash into her mouth, hoping it would buy her some time. But then again, it was simply mash. When Hermione swallowed, she responded, though rather defensive towards his comment, "What makes you think I had a change of heart?"

"So, then, there must be some sort of ulterior motive?"

Hermione glanced down at her watch. _Ugh._ Only a minute has gone by? Damn it, time. Speed up! "Of course not," she muttered, unhappy with the way the conversation was going. "I just want to help him get back on his feet."

"There are plenty others affected by the War. Why not help them? Why _Draco_? Your sworn childhood nemesis?"

"No- Malfoy is _Harry's_ rival, not mine."

"Tomato, _tomato_ ," Zabini shrugged. "Even so, he's someone who has grown up torturing you -Draco's made fun of your hair, your teeth, your _blood_. He was the first to call you _mudblood_ , after all." Though Blaise did say Hermione's most hated word in the world, she could tell there was no illwill hidden behind his statement. Still, it didn't stop her from outwardly cringing at the comment. "Say there _is_ no motive for you -then what else is there?"

"Just because I do things out of the goodness of my heart, doesn't mean I expect something equivalent in return. Not everyone has a trick up their sleeves." As if to prove her point, though hypothetical, Hermione rolled up the sleeves of her robes, showing there was nothing hidden there. "But perhaps that's a courtesy Slytherins never picked up." With her last comment, she popped a few peas into her mouth, looking almost triumphant at the slight burn towards Zabini.

The Italian grinned. "But _perhaps_ you didn't learn that for every action, there is a reaction."

" _No,_ for every action, there is an equal and opposite reaction: that's Newton's law of physics, which _doesn't_ apply to philosophical viewpoints. Do get your facts straight before you throw them out blindly at a...what is it?" Hermione stared at Zabini. "A mudblood?"

He barked out a laugh,"Touchè, Granger, touchè."

There it was. Silence once more, though, the uncomfortable airiness left. Hermione found herself enjoying the banter with Zabini. Unlike Malfoy, the Italian wizard took everything with a grain of salt. Nothing seemed to bother him.

"If you must know," Hermione started. She didn't, _usually_ , give into pointlessness, especially with people she hardly knew, but from where the conversation was going, Hermione had a feeling she _owed_ Zabini one for helping her get Malfoy to open the door. Otherwise, she would probably still be trying to figure out how to bust into the apartment without getting ruthlessly zapped. "Mal- Draco helped Harry and me once during our seventh year, during the war. He saved our lives. I'm simply returning the favor-"

"-So, you don't like having to owe someone," the wizard grinned.

"I also _don't like_ being cut off," she snapped before inhaling to calm herself. "But, that's beside the point." Hermione checked her watch -eight more minutes. "Before I partnered with him, all the paper," (she shook the Daily Prophet to emphasize it), "would talk about was the fall of the Malfoy empire. How down in the ditch, he was. He's had it hard enough, let alone to be _ridiculed_ by strangers and by those who don't get the whole story. I'm just someone who is capable of pushing him in the right direction."

There was a sincere expression on Blaise's face as Hermione continued to speak about his friend. And then there was a satisfied look once she finished. "Okay," he said, thus ending his will to pry further. Zabini stared at her a little longer as she turned her attention back towards her breakfast. "This is mine-" he plucked a banger off her plate. "And we'll call it even."

Hermione rolled her eyes but said nothing about the matter, except for when she looked back over towards the newspaper. "So, about this U-No-Poo thing..."

* * *

 

"And she said -she's doing this out of the _goodness_ of her heart," Blaise sniggered as he sat on Draco's couch in his loft. His feet were propped up against the adjacent loveseat and his back pressed into the cushions of the comfy seat. "Can you believe it?"

Truth be told, Draco hadn't been listening to his friend drone on and on about his breakfast with Granger. Not that it didn't interest him -rather, he already knew why she was doing all this. But, the blonde continued to respond to his friend, even if it was just a 'hm...' to answer his rhetorical question.

In his hand was both the note she'd left him stating she had to attend work this morning and the first prototype designed for him by Granger. Though the goggle design was crude and rudimentary, Draco was always in awe looking at it. He doubt he'd ever get tired of studying the item, after all, it was the first thing someone had given him _out of the goodness_ of their heart.

It was crazy how their paths managed to cross after all these years, even if it was the witch who had reached out to him first. When things were at an all time low, somehow, Granger was able to flip everything right side up again. It never ceased to amaze him just how easy a simple gesture could be, or even just... how she was able to forgive him for all the things he'd done in the past. Hell, even Blaise found it rather amusing at how selfless she was.

Blaise pursed his lips, watching the blonde stand in front of the lit fireplace. His blonde hair was still damp from his shower. Draco had been holding onto the weird goggles since he arrived and hadn't once looked away elsewhere.

"You know, that witch-"

"-She has a name-"

"-Right. Miss Priss, was it?"

Draco shot his friend an icy glare. For the first time, he made eye contact with Blaise, who happened to be grinning stupidly back at him.

"I walked her to her shop," the Italian commented. "Crazy how big the store has expanded since the Weasel twins first opened it up. I must say, I was rather impressed." He paused briefly, watching Draco turn his attention back towards his work, obviously uninterested in whatever Blaise had to say. It irked him a tad. All he wanted to do was hang out with his friend, but he wasn't given the time of day. Then he decided to test the waters. "Weasel-butt and Miss Prissy Pants looked pretty chummy back there."

Ah, there it was. Draco snapped his head back towards Blaise; his attention completely, one hundred and ten percent, on the wizard. How was it these two _dolts_ didn't realize what he did?

"I, definitely, felt like the third wheel. Once he showed up, it was like I didn't even exist anymore. _Poof!_ Gone. Just like that."

The blonde snarled at Blaise, finally prying his eyes away from the Italian. He knew Blaise was simply trying to get a rise out of him. There was no way Granger would have anything to do with Weasley. But still, having the image of the pair of them floating about in his head just didn't sit right with him.

Draco couldn't quite understand why -the fact that Weasley and Granger being in close proximity of each other- it really annoyed him, more than he'd care to admit. Maybe it's because they had a past, and old flames could be rekindled.

Just as he was about to say some rather colorful words to Blaise, Bubo Bubo came swooping into the living room, perching himself on the shelf above the hearth.

_Hoot_.

"Bubo Bubo," he greeted his pet with a loving scratch behind the ears. "Have you mail for me?"

The bird nodded, sticking out its leg. _Hoot._ It was a response from Cattermole:

_To Mister Malfoy and Miss Granger,_

_Thank you for your prompt inquiry. I understand these confusions can happen._

_If it is by no means trouble for the two of you, I will be available tomorrow in the early afternoon. Please come by anytime after lunch, after 12:00 PM._

_There is no need to a correspondence._

_Regards,_

_T. Cattermole_

"Thank you," he cooed at his owl while Blaise visibly blanched at the sight. It was always odd seeing how Draco had a soft side for animals, though, when it came to other witches and wizard, he was capable of being colder than ice. "Help yourself to some snacks." Draco waved his wand over towards the kitchen, pulling out a canister of cookies made specially for Bubo Bubo.

With a gleeful hoot, the eagle owl soared gracefully into the kitchen, landing next to the glass container and proceeded to dunk its entire face into the opening.

"You never give me cookies," muttered Blaise.

"Maybe if you do something useful for once, rather than drink all of my _good scotch_ , then you just _might_ get some damned cookies." Draco rolled his eyes, folding the parchment and tucked it into the pocket of his pants.

" _Excuse me. Millicent Bulstrode?_ " Blaise was quite offended by his friend's hurtful comment. "I still have nightmares about the trollish witch!"

Draco couldn't help but grin at the comment. "You're right. I forgot all about that-"

"-Of course you did. You didn't have to spend night and day running away from that woman. Swear she has a nose like a bloody hound."

"Would you like a cookie?" he asked in the sincerest of tones.

Blaise looked behind him towards the kitchen, where the owl was still munching away at the cookies. He considered it for the moment, then turned back towards his friend. "No, it's got bird germs all over it now."

Draco scoffed, shaking his head. "There is no winning with you."

"Says you."

"If that is the case, then I need you to kindly _sod_ _off_ while I have some other matters to attend to." The blonde levitated his robe over towards him as he adjusted his hair, combing it back; standing in front of the fireplace quickly dried his fair locks.

"Miss Priss matters?" Blaise smirked, raising his brows as he stood from his seat. Without giving Draco the opportunity to respond, though he knew it was a yes, Blaise stepped into the Floo, shouting "Home!"

Now that his chatty friend was gone, the loft was filled with the sound of his bird munching on its sugary snack. Draco called to its attention, "You'll get sick if you eat too much, Bubo Bubo." Though he made no move to stop the owl from devouring the rest of its food. "Just don't make a mess. Back to your room once you're done."

The avian ignored him.

"Right, then," he muttered. Draco made one last check, making sure he was prim and proper before stepping into the Floo, his destination being the Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes.

 

 


	14. Fault in Future Value Projections

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello dear readers! I know it's been a super duper long time since I've posted anything. I'm really flattered to know that people are still reading this and anticipating future chapters.
> 
> As you guys know, I've been going through a lot of real life stuff that kind of prevented me from doing any writing, and quite honestly, I lost the inspiration to write. My interests kind of jumped from one thing to another, but I think I'm back! My area was hit by Hurricane Harvey, and while my family and I were luckier and didn't sustain any major damage there are still a lot of things I have to do around the house which might delay future chapters. I've been living with family friends and with boyfriend since the hurricane hit, and I'm ready to sleep in my own bed now. _
> 
> But, regardless of my life, I'm just really grateful you guys are still here, and I hope you're not too antsy in your pantsy, haha.
> 
> Thanks again to my amazing friend, Mr. Benzedrine, for helping me with edits and ideas!

Surrounding the large oak work table seated three familiar individuals. They were typically seen together as a group, usually in social gatherings and family functions. The trio were not only known for their heroics during the Great Wizarding War; they were also recently made famous once again due to their successful gags, gifts, and galores. Hermione, Ron, and George discussed fervently among each other over the recent grand opening of Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes in Dublin.

Their meetings were always hosted in Hermione's office. One, it was the cleanest of the three. Unsurprisingly, Ron's was always the messiest, and it wasn't even with relevant work things! When the two were still dating, the obsessively clean witch always desperately tried to maintain a tidy work environment for the redhead but to no avail. Somehow, Ron always managed to turn it back to a pigsty no less than a day later.

People say opposites attract, but thinking back on it now, Hermione simply couldn't understand what she found so enticing about the wizard. She found her thoughts wandering towards a certain blond; how his place was always kept so meticulously clean -of course, only when he wasn't on some sort of pity party. Being with someone like him would be much less of a headache in comparison to her business partner.

Hermione glanced over towards her longtime friend, pursing her lips ever so slightly as she watched him listen to his elder brother speak.

Oh right-meeting!

"-our newest product, here at home base, is doing quite well. Remember: we released it roughly around the same time we had our official opening in Ireland-" George reiterated the obvious -not for Hermione's sake, but rather for Ron's. Honestly, he was so forgetful these days, he might as well borrow Neville's old Rememberall. "-it sold out just a week after we shelved these babies!"

The witch nodded in approval, smiling to the brothers as she glanced down at her notes.

The Lucky Licking Liquorice, inspired by  _Felix Felicis_ so famously used by Harry Potter, was a chewy candy that came in multitude of flavors. The confectionary brought the consumer temporary luck, lasting only a few short minutes, before it wore off. The kick? Once the effects were completely depleted, the user would be hit with a random strike of, well,  _bad luck_.

Some instances were even headlined in the Daily Prophet! Not that they had much to talk about these days, what with the War long behind the world. Newsworthy topics were simply gossip and the like.

One employee, after being showered with all the fortune possible, crossed path with a black cat strolling under a ladder on the thirteenth of Friday. The poor man stayed in his flat for the rest of the week, terrified he was going to die by some freak accident.

But aside from a bit of a scare and a whole lot of bad luck, the candy was designed to where it would never physically harm an individual or cost them their lives.  _How_ a user responded to a situation was out of their control.

Ever since Hermione stepped foot into the Weasley's joke industry, she made sure to have any potentially dangerous materials labeled properly, lest they were sued for a joke going just a tad too far for someone to handle.

"Right-" Hermione started, breaking her trip down memory lane. "It seems like we're out of stock of the Liquorice, so Ron, please make note that we need our candy makers to produce more." She paused for a moment, making sure he, indeed, was writing it down. "And make sure that they don't botch the potion like they did our second batch. Verity was lucky to have caught it in time before we shelved it." The witch, tersely, shook her head, causing her curls to sway back and forth, as she remembered their poor employees having to test our every box to make sure the candies weren't too potent.

The looks on their faces afterwards was too much to handle as they begged their employers to stop with the 'torment.'

Ron sniggered at her comment, remembering quite well of that ill-fated day. "Good thing she did. We had customers waiting around the corner for this candy. Could ya imagine the chaos those babies could have brought?" He shuddered at the thought.

"I'm sure we would have been paying out of our pockets treating them at Saint Mungo's. Speaking of..." The witch shuffled through some sheets of papers. "I do believe we've made a profit of near ten thousand galleons with our first set of liquorice." She double checked her invoice, making sure she had previously calculated the numbers correctly.

Hermione had been dealing with so many  _numbers_  these past few weeks, they all started blending in together. She swore every time she blinked, she saw floating numerals behind her eyelids, taunting her to add and subtract properly.

When she looked up from her paperwork, Hermione noticed the wide eyes of the two brothers.

"I know business was good, but I didn't know it was that good!" Ron smacked his forehead as his jaw slacked, dumbfounded. "Blimey..."

It must have been difficult for the Weasleys, having grown up poor and having more siblings than one could ever wish for. Hermione's parents were dentists, so while they were well off, the Malfoys were in a whole different league of 'rich'. Ron's constant shock of how much they were making never ceased to surprise Hermione in the least bit.

The redheaded clan went from passing down old books and tattered outfits from their eldest child to the youngest. They shared rooms and had too little space in the house to be comfortable. But now, though the Weasleys still maintained the same humble lifestyle, Molly and Arthur were relieved to know their children could support them.

Arthur even considered retiring early, though his love for Muggle contraptions outweighed the ideas of staying at home all day.

"Yes, well-" Hermione stopped herself midway. Everyone knew Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes wasn't the same after they lost Fred. Their sales plummeted, and though Ron tried his best to fill his older brother's shoes, he simply couldn't. Whether it was his lack of pizazz or whether it was that twin vibe Fred and George had, it was just wasn't there.

Customers grew bored at their slow turnaround in new inventions. For weeks, it was the same merchandise, and even George lost inspiration at one point. He'd never told Hermione, but she could tell, when she first joined the team, that he was just days away from shutting down the joke store for good.

But, there was something fresh, something different from Hermione's perspectives. She never took all the credit, because she always said the same thing whenever anyone mentioned the Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes second coming in success- "Three heads is better than two." It was the more humbling route, of course.

"Speaking of body parts," George piped up with a broad smirk written clearly across his pale complexion, "I have a new design in mind."

"Well, if that's not a weird transition, I'unno what is..." The younger Weasley stared at his brother, his brows furrowed, unsure how to react to the comment.

"Moment-" Hermione quickly interjected the two brothers, flipping through the rest of her notes, making sure all topics were covered for their meeting today. Upon confirmation, she neatly stacked up her parchments and smiled at George, giving him her undivided attention. "Alright, today's agenda is completed. You may proceed."

Sometimes it seemed like she was the president of the company instead of him.

Without skipping a beat, George pulled out a tightly bound scroll, levitating it into the air before unrolling it. On the paper showed a crudely drawn diagram of whatever it was George was trying to portray.

Hermione attempted to stifle a giggle, quickly turning it into a yawn, feigning exhaustion from their long meeting. "Sorry," she muttered, pretending to wipe away a stray tear.

The sketch reminded her of Draco's designs. Where the former aristocrat's goggles reminded her of a lingerie design, George's art (if anyone would dare call it that) was simply a box with horizontal lines. There must have been some sort of correlation between inventors and not being able to draw a single straight line. Surely, he had been in a hurry to do this, right? His unborn child would probably make better doodles!

"What is it?" Ron's brows were so tightly knit together it became a unibrow. For a second, he angled his head, and Hermione mimicked, thinking perhaps seeing it from a different perspective would help open her eyes on the mysteries of George's mind. Good thing she wasn't the only one unable to understand the scribble.

Not noticing the other two's confusion, George puffed his chest outward, proud of his design. "It's called the Bitey Burglar Backpack -name pending."

"Ooh..." The other two muttered, realizing that the box was just an attempt at a three dimensional design of a...backpack.

"This is designed where, if anyone, save for the owner, sticks his-"

"-or her-"

"-hand inside any of these pouches-" he gestured towards horizontal lines which formed smaller rectangles within a larger rectangle, "-teeth will grow from the fabric and bite down on the would-be thief." George stopped to look at the other two with his brows raised. One look of Hermione's expression quickly reminded him of the 'precautionary' measures they have to take as an enterprise to prevent loss of income. "Of course-" he added quickly, stopping her from making any comment as she inhaled, almost to make a comment. "Of course, I'll have it set up where while there  _is_  immense pain on the robber, there isn't any  _lasting_ damages."

After she joined the team, George and Ron learned to always have their grounds covered when they presented their ideas. Otherwise, Hermione would find some means to tear it apart.

But try as they might, the clever witch always managed to find  _something_  to nitpick at.

"Well-" she began, immediately noticing the older Weasley's chest deflate in defeat. It was almost like clockwork. They'd present something and explain; she would, then, counter their proposal, and they'd proceed to sulk, moan, and groan. Hermione felt sorry for them in the beginning, but soon she realized it was all just an act to take advantage of her more nurturing side. So, she no longer felt any sympathy for the boy.

Either do the work entirely or shut up and take the advice. It's why she liked to call herself the best in the business.

"-Not everyone uses a backpack. In fact, very few magical folks use it." She gave George a pity smile as his shoulders slumped down and he fell back into his seat. "That being said, I think the idea is interesting. If you could design different options, it would play really well into our business.

"Right now, our target audience are mainly students. If, say, we have it so it's an anti-theft purse or pouch, perhaps we could bring in older, working clients or even those who just travel a lot."

George nodded thoughtfully, contemplating the idea.

Hermione could literally see the gears spinning in his head as he tried to formulate new ideas. "You'll also have to consider what'll happen if this product should fall into the hands of muggles."

"Right-"

"-and make sure you do add an automatic safety detection should a child, baby or otherwise, stick their hands into it. So they don't hurt themselves."

"Yes-"

"-and maybe something of a 'switch' to turn on and off the 'teeth' function."

"But-"

"-But let's put this on the backburner for the time being. We have so many thing going on at this moment, adding another product onto plate might just tip this tower of tasks over."

George heaved a heavy sigh as his idea was, once again, thwarted by the almighty Hermione Jean Granger.

"Sorry, George. Were you saying something?" She turned her attention towards him for a moment, having been completely unaware of his attempts to interject in her one-woman conversation.

"No-"

"-Okay, then! Onto the next topic." Hermione lifted her wand, which had been resting next to a pile of paperwork she had yet to go over, and magicked the scroll to roll up tightly and spelled it towards the bookshelf next to the fireplace, where many more of presumably George's ideas were neatly stacked.

Ron gave an apologetic pat on the back as the man watched another one of his creations get tucked away to collect dust.

It was always business with her - that and getting  _relevant_  work done as quickly as possible. There just wasn't enough time in the day to get all the things that needed to be done, well,  _done_. She was busier than ever now since she's been spending the majority of her time helping out Draco on the side. In fact, so much of her time was spent helping out the poor bloke that it would completely slip her mind to remember to work on  _her_  existing business.

These past few weeks had her running on three to four hours of sleep.

Where was a time turner when she needed one?

**xxx**

"Anything else in need of discussion?" Hermione stretched her tired arms high above her head as she clenched her jaw, holding back a yawn.

The two brothers, looking more exhausted than their witch counterpart, exchanged glances at each other before shaking their heads simultaneously.

_Thank goodness!_ They were done for the day.

Being in a meeting with Hermione was, typically, intense, fast, and to the point. Since working with her former classmates, she's learning to loosen her grip on things just a bit (like, one percent, really) and they'd learned to try and keep up with her pace.

Fatigue sat heavily on Hermione's shoulders as she rolled them back and forth, trying to get the aching knot out. The three of them sat in her office for a better part of the morning. Whoever knew the Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes would be this busy?

Just as she was about ready to call the meeting, there was a gentle knock at the door. Quickly, the bushy haired witch straightened herself from her relax state. "Come in!" she exclaimed in her most pleasant business tone, though it was still sharp enough to cut through the toughest of steel.

The wooden door opened slowly and the hinges groaned against the weight. As the small crack of light entered, it let in a chorus of laughter and music, filling up the, otherwise, serious room.

"Hellooo..." came a voice in a singsong-like manner, and a familiar head popped through the gap.

Once more, Hermione found herself relaxing at the sight of her former schoolmate. "Angelina!" She smiled and stood from her chair, elated to see a well known, yet, different face. Quite honestly, the brunette was getting tired of looking at the same two redheads for hours on end. "Come in. Come in. We were just finishing up."

The chocolate-skinned witch opened the door further, her smile bright enough to lighten the mood. "I was just coming around to pick up my husband for lunch."

Hermione learned, some time ago, that it was code to save George from her, figuratively speaking, vice-like hold on him.

"I'm famished!" the older Weasley cried as he leapt out of his seat and carefully wrapped his arms around his wife's delicate shoulders, kissing her on the cheek.

The younger witch squealed as she noticed the obvious bump on Angelina's belly and made her way over towards the couple and nearly shoved George out of the way for a better look. "Look at you! Six months?"

Angelina laughed at her husband's attempt to complain. "Just about!"

"Sex?"

George groaned almost immediately. "Not as much as before. She's always complaining about how her back hurts and being so exhausted all the time."

"Not you!" the woman glowered at the man before going back to their idle chatter.

When both the witches were caught up with their lives (Hermione kept hers pretty brief, leaving out plenty of details about Draco. Another time, perhaps?), Angelina turned her attention back towards her husband. "Well? Are we getting lunch, or am I going to be eating alone again?"

The man threw his hands up in the air, exasperated, as if he hadn't been standing there for the past ten minutes, pointing at his stomach and gesturing the immense pain he was in due to starving. "Yesss!" He then wrapped his lanky arm around her waist and gently led her out of the office. "Foood..."

Hermione smiled to herself, watching the notorious prankster handle his wife with such gentleness. Who knew George was capable of such delicateness?

When the door closed behind the soon-to-be-parents, an all too familiar silence greeted the two former lovers, and suddenly, Hermione felt oddly exposed and awkward. While she and Ron remained friends, they never really saw each other outside of work or special occasions. There wasn't really any reason to.

Quite honestly, if it wasn't for George's sole decision in hiring Hermione, they wouldn't have been where they were today. Of course, during that time, Ron tried to pull all the stops to hiring her, but the elder brother pulled the 'this is my store, and I get final say' card on Ron, who then (according to Harry) pouted for months until he realized how effective her innovation was.

"Erm..." Her demeanor changed completely, unsure how to approach this weird situation. There wasn't any work related topics to talk about. They'd already covered it all today.

"Before you say anythin'..." Ron quickly responded, picking up on her uneasiness. He scratched the back of his head, his shoulders tense and permanently in the shrugged position, and his head crooked to the side as if he was trying to come up with something to say.

If anyone could personify awkward, Ron would be the leading contender.

She looked at him, brows raised and lips pursed. "Hm?"

They both stared at each other, an uncomfortable air resting on them heavily.

His freckled face twisted, almost constipated in a way, but Hermione knew better than to assume he needed to use the loo. Rather, it was more along the lines of Ron having something to say, yet at the same time, not knowing how to put it into words or, and the second option usually rang truer, he was too prideful. She knew the look all too well; she saw it every time they finished fighting due to his childishness and wildly insecure thoughts.

"Ron-" she sighed out his name.

"-No, I have to, 'Mione," the redhead inhaled, determined as he shut his eyes. "When we were together, you always told me that I didn't have to - but I do. I know that. We're not children, anymore. I have to own up to my mistakes." He sniffed while using the back of his right hand to rub his nose.

The corners of her lips twitched at his response.  _Owning up to his mistakes?_  That was a new one, though, she had to admit - a new leaf might not be too bad for Ron Weasley.

Though, how many times in the past had he apologized only to act the same way the very next day? As if his amendment the night before meant he was guilt free to do whatever he pleased to the following day. Her brain argued with her heart. Reason versus emotion. Both sides saying different things.

_He's an adult! If he hasn't changed his ways already, he'll never be able to do it now. Just wasting my time, listening on more of his silly antics._

He just wanted attention. This was probably one of the reasons why things never worked out between him. If she didn't give him her utmost attention, then there was a fight.

_But. It's not like it's too late to change. Right? Just look at him! He's so pitiful, like a stray puppy caught out in the middle of a storm._

Ugh, Hermione always had a soft spot for puppies...

Regardless, she said what he predicted earlier, "You don't have to..."

"Hermione," his eyes bore into hers as he enunciated her name. "I'm sorry for how things have been." Ron chewed at the bottom of his lip, and his face contorted once more, as if it was the hardest thing in the world for him to say.

"I know things haven't been a walk in the park for you, and I haven't made things any easier," Ron took a deep breath and, like there was some sort of breakthrough for him, everything just came undone.

"I hated how things ended between us. We were s'posed to be best friends, through thick and thin! After everything we went through, fleeing from the Ministry to losin' friends and family. The last thing we need to lose is each other. Somethin'... Somethin' petty as this... as Malfoy or our break up - it's not worth losin' what we have." Ron scratched the back of his head once more; his expression was apprehensive. He shifted his weight from one leg to another as he tried to come up with something to say next. "The people we can trust are few and far in between. We...should hold onto what we have..."

The wizard looked at his friend, and when she stayed silent, he continued on. "What I'm sayin' is, I want to be best friends again. Like old times. I miss seeing you, not just at work or with the family. I miss grabbing butterbeer and late nights talkin' about nothin'. Those were the best. So... whaddya say, 'Mione? Like the old times?"

Hermione exhaled through her nostrils as she stepped towards the pathetic looking wizard and reached out her arms, embracing her friend like they did when they were still children. Though his words were less than eloquent, she understood his intention. "It won't be easy, but we'll make it work."

"Yeah?"

"Of course! What are best friends for?" She laughed quietly, looking up at the lanky man. "Just how long have you been preparing that speech?"

A wave of relief hit him, his rigid form suddenly went soft. His nervousness gone and the Ron she was so used to was back. "Oh, blimey, 'Mione. You've no idea. I rehearsed it over and over to Padma and-"

" _Padma_?" Hermione squinted at him, dropped her arms to her sides, and took a step back. It was the first time in years she'd heard the name of any woman, save from herself and family members, coming out of Ron's mouth.

"Oh-" the colors in his face drained out as he realized his mistake. "Oh, erm, right. We started seeing each other just a few weeks ago-" The man exhaled a nervous laugh.

She guffawed, throwing her head back and covered her eyes with her hand. The sympathetic side of her was erased, left with frustration, and well  _oddly_ , relief. Of course, the only way to make the stubborn Ronald Weasley apologize would be if  _he_  found 'happiness' before she did.

He watched the daunting witch grow quiet as the aura around her changed drastically. Was she pissed? Sad? He couldn't read her; he was never able to do it very well. "S-seriously, 'Mione! This isn't 'cause of...not because of her -I've been- this has been going through my head for a long, long time now! S-s-she was just the one who gave me the courage I needed to tell you all this."

"Right, so, without the help of your new girlfriend, you were just going to let this rift between us grow? You needed some...some  _stranger_  help mend our relationship? Is this what I mean to you?"

"She's not a stranger! We went to school with her, 'Mione!" He huffed in defiance, hoping she would come to her senses.

The witch shot him a scathing glare, daring him to interrupt her again.

"That's not it at all," Ron muttered under his breath as he fidgeted with his fingers, his left foot scraping against the carpeted floor like a child being scolded.

"Then please, explain it." She waved her wand, turning one of the chairs around so she could sit comfortably. "My schedule is opened for the rest of the day. Do tell me how you fabricated this whole ordeal."

Hermione was met with silence as the man stood there, unsure what to say.

"Let  _me_  explain it to you, then." She crossed her leg over the other and folded her arms across her chest, leaning back into the slack of the chair. "And I'll make it easy for your pea-sized brain to understand your intentions, yes?" Hermione cleared her throat. "You can't stand the thought of me being happy while you're single and alone. Whether it's me going on a first date or making new friends, you erupt in jealousy and manage to ruin everyone's lives.  _Mine,_ especially. But, now that you've found yourself a new girl, Merlin bless her soul, you decided  _now_  you can finally be the bigger man and apologize for all the  _shit_  you've put me through. Keeping up?"

"-Mione..." He tried to explain, though he was cut off as she waved her hand out to keep him from speaking.

Even if his words were of good intention, once Hermione sets her mind to something, it would take the world and all its gods to make her change her mind.

"I think I'm done with you, Ronald." She cleared her throat, standing up. "For years you've juggled around with my emotions and life. I do nothing but help you and take care of your family, and please do understand I, absolutely, love and adore your parents and siblings, but you-" Hermione took a giant step towards him, poking her index finger against his chest. "-You, I am done with."

The redhead gulped audibly.

"Now, if you'd be so kind...please, get the  _fuck_  out."

She waved her wand, and the office door swung open violently, the knob making a sizeable dent against the wall.

"-'Mione, will you please just listen-" He didn't get a chance to finish his sentence. She had no interest and shoved him, slamming the door shut.

_Stupid Ron Weasley._

When she thought she was alone, she collapsed in her seat again, more tired than ever. Her face was buried in hand as her middle finger and thumb caressed both sides of her temple. A headache was brewing.

"Is this a bad time?"


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Thank you for all your kind words! My family and I are fine. We were luckier compared to a lot of others who got hit during the hurricane. We just have some unexpected extra expenses we have to pay off now, but we'll get by. We always do. :)
> 
> In another note, did I ever mention during my hiatus I visited London? I did my first big girl solo trip and stayed there for a week. I wish I could have stayed longer, but I think I would have ran out of money if I did. xD I got the opportunity to visit WB Studio Harry Potter in Leavesden, where they showcased a lot of the real props that were used during filming. I purchased the VIP pass, since I figured it was a once in a lifetime thing, and got to take pictures by the grand hall door and had my own personal tour guide! Aside from that, I walked by (accidentally) the Cursed Child theatre, but the tickets were way out of my price range. I also visited the MinaLima art shop. They were the masterminds behind all the poster designs, signs, WWW candy designs, etc.! I purchased a limited edition Slytherin print!
> 
> I do plan on going back one day. I hope it'll be sooner than later. ^^ The wanderlust is hittin' me so hard now that I'm writing again, haha.
> 
> Thank you Mr. Benzedrine for helping me with my edits and being a (as usual) wonderful friend!

He caught a glimpse of the insufferable redhead as the door closed on his face. Weasley's jaw was slack, mouth agape, and eyes  _so_ wide they threatened to bulge out. The pitiful man was completely dumbfounded, unable to respond to Hermione's uncharacteristic action.

The whole ordeal was  _quite_ satisfying to watch, even if the show was by total accident. Draco  _definitely_ wouldn't mind paying some galleons to watch this performance again.

At the very last few seconds, their eyes met, and the blonde's reaction couldn't be anymore instinctive as he gave the pathetic excuse of a Weasel his signature, haughty smirk.

When the door finally slammed shut, the witched turned around and walked towards her chair, completely unaware of Draco, who stood in front of the fireplace. In fact, he was surprised neither of the two parties noticed his arrival during their argument. Using the Floo wasn't exactly the  _quietest_ transportation.

He watched her take a seat, heaving a pained sigh. Her eyes were shut as her fingers made an attempt to massage her head from the impending headache. Odd, though. Draco always assumed severing friendship with the annoying Weasley would have been equivalent to removing a tumor. Shouldn't she be celebrating?

Maybe it wasn't the best time for him to be here. Perhaps he should have turned around and gone back through the Floo or even Apparate, but his stupid mouth reacted before he was able to fully process his next plan of action.

"Is this a bad time?"

Granger snapped her head around, confusion written all over her face. "Wha-Dra- _Malfoy_?" she looked around the room. "When did you get here?"

Draco smirked again. "Somewhere between blessing a new girl's soul and ' _please_ get the fuck out.'" The wizard couldn't help but smile at the last phrase, never once hearing his long time rival utter a single cuss word.

"Oh, no!" She hid her face behind her hands, absolutely embarrassed over Draco's witness in her friendship breakup with Ron.

"Please-" he waved it off. "Christmas came early for me."

**xxx**

The two of them soon retired back to her flat.

It was his first time visiting, and the place was very much how he expected.

Granger lived quite humbly, even though he was sure the woman made more than enough through just the Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes business for her to live a lavish lifestyle. Her apartment was minimalistic, and the decor was mostly white - probably easier for her to spot all the dirty specks around so she could clean it immediately.

He chuckled at the thought of a frantic witch desperately trying to clean her white walls from all the ashes flying out from the fireplace due to Floo visits. It certainly wouldn't be out of character.

She gave Draco a quick tour of her flat. Granger lived in a studio apartment -one room: a living room, kitchen, and washroom. It was small, but since she was on her own, and hardly ever at home, it was probably enough space for her.

The witch ended the tour back in the living room. Two cups of hot black tea were set on the coffee table. Granger must have prepped it while showing him around. He took the beverage, blowing on the surface gently. "Thank you," he muttered.

"A host's job," she joked, quickly throwing handful of cat toys into a woven basket next to the couch. While her own decorations were scarce, there was no shortage of cat toys. It was probably the only noticeable  _mess_  in her home.

_Oh, what was his name again?_

_Crookshanks?_

As if the cat was able to read Draco's thoughts, the feline opened his eyes and blinked lazily at the wizard, who sat on the other side of the coffee table. They stared at each other for a few moments, but once Draco blinked, Crookshanks lost interest and went back to his slumber, curling up into an even tighter ball, snuggling warmly against the witch's lap.

He watched her hand caress the fluffy cat's fur, lost in thought.

Silence weighed heavily on the pair of them; the only sound was the content purr of the kneazel hybrid. When he was finally fed up with the oddly quiet Granger, whose thoughts were obviously on today's earlier event, he spoke up. "I'm still having trouble comprehending why you were ever with him." Draco took a sip of the Earl Grey.

The witch cleared her throat, shifting ever so slightly on her sofa. "Well, after the war, Harry had Ginny. I Obliviated my parents to keep them safe from the Death Eaters." She glanced away from Draco, blinking a few times as if to almost will away unshed tears. "I hadn't cured them yet, so I didn't have anyone...and Ron? Ron was there, and we kind of just...clicked." Granger pulled her hand away from the cat and fumbled around with the hem of her blouse. It was clear she was uncomfortable talking, but she still continued on. "We were best friends, and...it was convenient. Some part of me thought we would be able to work out our differences. Harry and Ginny did, and look where they are now -the perfect couple."

The way she spoke with her voice barely above a whisper, reminiscing over the past, sent a dull pain circling deep in his chest. He mentally waved it away, ignoring the red, blaring signal of jealously. Or was it empathy? What was it that triggered this emotion, anyway? The feeling was something entirely foreign, and hearing her talk about her former lover made the unwarranted affliction swell more than he appreciated.

"Uhm..." He started and took another sip of his tea - a nice way to fill the silence as he tried to figure out what to say. "Who would have known the famous Hermione Granger would ever just settle for..." he paused, glancing up from his drink. "...Convenience?"

"I was young and foolish. Times were different," Granger answered almost immediately after his comment, like it was something she'd told herself time and time again. "I guess I was looking for love in the wrong place." She stared down at her slumbering cat, biting her lower lip as she contemplated her words.

Despite her eventful day and his comparably uneventful one, the evening passed quickly. The sun's dark orange rays glared through the windows of her living room for a few more minutes before it ducked away behind the dark silhouettes of neighboring buildings.

"You wouldn't be the first person to look for love in the wrong place."

Since her comment on Death Eaters, she managed to find interest elsewhere, much like the one time they met at Cattermole's office after their accidental kiss. However, when his silvery grey orbs flitted over towards her, he was greeted by her warm brown eyes.

"Something I said?"

A shy smile danced across her pink lips for a moment. "Did I just hear the  _perfect_ Draco Malfoy admit to making a - dare I say it - mistake?"

"I do believe having you help me with my business ventures is an admission all on its own," Draco quipped, rolling his eyes at her comment.

"Oh, you prat!"

"Know-it-all," he scoffed.

When they were in school, any sort of nicknames given to Granger would have meant that person had some sort of deathwish. She'd remember all the names, and trust Draco, she wouldn't let them go. But given their recent history with each other and in this situation, feelings between them were much different, like there was a mutual respect between the two of them.

Who would have  _ever_  imagined Draco Malfoy and Hermione Granger sitting in  _her_  flat, drinking tea? The younger him would have blown a lid, accusing the older Draco of cohorting with the enemy. It would have been an entertainment all on its own.

_I wonder how a younger Granger would react..._

Though his intentions to see Granger earlier on in the day was for, more or less, 'heist' related reasons, Draco decided to put a pin in it for the time being, given her stressful day. It was the least he could do.

"Do you fancy dinner?" He finished off his tea with a barely audible slurp at the end then set the porcelain cup onto the coffee table, though, not without first placing a coaster underneath it. Draco made the mistake at her office once and received an earful from the naggy witch, claiming that even though it was a hot drink, droplets could still roll down the drinkware and onto the table, there in fact, dirtying it.

"I have food in the fridge," she responded, waving her wand, sending the emptied teacups into the kitchen.

"Fridge?"

"Yes - it's a muggle icebox."

He squinted at her, confused, though he didn't verbally admit it to her. She chortled, probably aware of his expression and having had explained it several times to different wizards who had no experience with muggle contraptions.

"Let me show you." Granger stood from her sofa, waking up her cat, who quickly jumped and scurried off into her bedroom.

The two of them made way into the kitchen, and she pointed to the quietly humming rectangular box the size of a young Gregory Goyle. Draco stepped forward and opened the bottom compartment. The container was cool and brightly lit. Inside were an assortment of fruits, vegetables, meats, and drinks, all arranged neatly.

"Fridge. It's short for refrigerator. It's a noun; the word origin is formed from the Latin roots  _re_ \- and  _frigus_ which means 'to cool again.'"

"What?" he snapped his head towards her, a bewildered look written on his face. "How do you know these things?" What a random fact.  _Whatever_. "Does this... _fur-ridge_...prepare food for you, too?"

"No, it just keeps things cool and fresh, though not permanently. I still have to prepare my meals."

"Yourself?" Draco closed the bottom door and opened the top on. He shuddered a little when the freezing trapped air in the tinier box came flying out, blasting him in the face. "Where is your elf?" When she didn't respond, he turned back to look at her again. She was giving him the stink eye. "What?"

"I don't use elves. It's slavery."

"What-?" He looked take aback for a moment before remembering her petition throughout Hogwarts during their fourth year. "Oh, spew."

"No, S.P.E.W., it stands for Society for the-"

"-for the Promotion of Elvish Welfare."

It was Granger's turn to look surprised. "I'm surprised you know the cause."

He shut the tiny door. The top part should be called a frosty; it was so cold, ice cubes could form in there. "Well, I'll admit, it was kind of hard to ignore your desperate attempts to free elves. We had an ongoing bet-" Draco stopped himself before his words started digging a hole for him and cleared his throat, quickly changing the subject. "Why don't we go out for dinner, anyway? It's on me."

Granger pursed her lips and further narrowed her eyes, knowing full well where his earlier comment was going to go, but chose not to hold onto the petty past. "Knowing you, it's going to be some seven course meal."

"How dare you?" he commented, though a smile was stretched across his face. "What am I - made of money?"

* * *

Though the hours already extended well into the evening, the night was still young for the residents of London. Much to Hermione's surprise, the wizard joined her on her impromptu adventure out into the muggle society.

If she was to be truthful, she hoped mentioning going out to where muggles thrived would deter him from spending more time with her. Hermione hoped for an early night - curl up in the tub with a good book and a very small glass of wine. But, even though her day ended up being longer than expected, mostly due to the fiasco she had with Ron...being with Malfoy for the latter half of the day wasn't bad at all.

It was different.

Hermione decided to take him to a popular night market location;, namely a shipping container structure, called Pop Brixton. It'd been awhile since she last stepped foot into the boisterous destination. Last she counted, there were over sixteen food stalls, several dine-in restaurants, and even a few bars.

"Are there always this many muggles about?" The former Slytherin stood out like a sore thumb. His appearance didn't make him stand out all too much - he was just a few centimetres taller than the average male, and thankfully, with London being one of the forerunners in the fashion industry, many other men and women of the same (dyed) platinum hair that he wore. Rather, it was his confident demeanor which made others turn to look at him, even if it was just a passing glance. There was just something about Malfoy, something even  _Hermione_ couldn't put a finger on.

"Yes?" Her brows furrowed at his question and wondered just how oblivious he was of the muggle world. Hogwarts offered Muggle Studies as an elective, which Hermione took her third year, but to her recollection, Malfoy never stepped foot into the classroom. Surely, he'd rather be seen in his undergarment than be seen taking a course on non-magical people. "We're in London, which has one of the highest populations of...people in any European cities." Though she was sure no one cared for their conversation, she, nonetheless, lowered her voice. "Did you know there are roughly four thousand muggles to one witch or wizard?"

He shook his head in response, quite surprised at the numbers. "How do you know  _that_?"

A smirk found its way onto her face. "I am a know-it-all for a reason, aren't I?"

He chuckled, walking close to the witch, their shoulders brushing against each others from time to time; though, truth be told, their shoulders were touching just about everyone else's they came into contact with. Pop Brixton was, as the youngsters call it (or so claimed Hermione later on during the evening) ' _poppin'_ ' this time of night.

She noticed there was a slight frown etched into his lips, though he tried to hide it. Perhaps it was due to him being outside of his comfort zone or simply just the sheer amount of people (or just muggles) that had him feeling uneasy. Either way, he stayed as close as he could to her.

"It is the weekend, you know. People don't have to work; they don't have school, so they're free to do whatever they want until, I guess, Monday." Hermione couldn't help but feel a little envious as she watched the younger generation run around the establishment. There were times when she felt a great chunk of her youth was wasted away fighting a war most of the world would never know about.

"This is one of my favorite places." The witch pointed towards a small restaurant and wrapped her arm around his, pulling him without mercy into unsuspecting people and towards the mouth watering smell of fried food.

**xxx**

Malfoy gingerly picked up a piece of dried plantain chip, coated with cinnamon and nutmeg. He glanced around at the other patrons as they eagerly scarfed down their late night dinner without hesitation.

"Just put it on your mouth!" she exclaimed, popping a chip in as if to prove they weren't poisonous. "Delicious."

"Don't speak with your mouth full." The man rolled his eyes, taking the smallest nibble off the edge of the dried fruit.

"You're not going to taste anything like that, just-" Hermione leaned across the table, careful not to get her blouse dirty as she did so and shoved a large piece of plantain into his mouth. He protested, glaring as her as she laughed at his reaction. "If you ate like that with every dish that's going to be coming out, we'd be here for the rest of the night!"

Others noticed their bickering and chuckled along side Hermione as Malfoy reluctantly chewed on the appetizer.

"Well?" she asked after taking another piece from the wooden dish.

"It tastes sweet," he muttered, staring down at bowl. "Almost like bananas."

"They're a kind of bananas; they're just starchier."

**xxx**

"This is a... _baow-bee-ab_?" He dipped his spoon into a serving of butter, scooping up a teensy bit before giving it a taste.

"No,  _bay-oh-bab_. Baobab. It's the national tree of Madagascar, but they also grow in Africa and Australia. They're also nicknamed the 'tree of life,' because of its ability to thrive in such a dry area and still able to produce fruit and store tons of water -thus, 'tree of life.'"

"Seriously, Granger, where do you store all this information in your brain? Whoever knew Baobab would be relevant in a conversation?"

Hermione laughed, nearly spitting out her food midchew, and quickly covered her mouth with the napkin. "Harry and Ron used to ask me that all the time when we were in school. I guess, I have something of an eidetic memory. I can remember things pretty easily after just a short period of time."

"Mmh! This is delicious." He cut a piece of tilapia and dipped it into the citrusy butter. "Whoever knew muggles were capable of making such gourmet food?"

She watched him eat. Malfoy's actions reminded her of a child, exploring an entire new world -which, in a sense, it was for him. "You'd be surprised how far one's talent can take them even without having our magical potential." Hermione popped a fried okra into her mouth, relishing in the garlicky decadence. "A chef's superb ability to cook is something your magic is unable to replicate."

He glanced up, disbelieving her comment. As someone such as Malfoy, who spent their entire lives surrounded by magic -the very idea of a muggle's talent being superior to magic is hard, if even possible, to comprehend.

But she continued with her statement, pausing every few sentences to take a bite of food. The two of them ended up ordering several dishes, sharing between each other, trying out the assortment of flavor the restaurant had to offer.

"There's something  _entirely_  different, something magic can't even bring out. It's the passion, the love, the drive to create something to perfection. It's knowing that your work can evoke emotion. A writer whose words can cause a stranger to shed tears. An artist who evoke anger from their paintings. A chef who brings out happiness in their food. A muggle's ability to do this, through years of hard work and dedication - it's a form of magic that magic can't even replicate."

**xxx**

"Let me pay." He took the tab, assuming it was the bill, and pulled out his pouch. It only dawned on him, after spilling out his money, that Malfoy only carried wizarding currency. "Shit."

Hermione laughed. "Yeah, you can't use that here. Put that away before people start asking what you're carrying." She dug through her satchel, pulling out a few paper bills, all in different sizes and colors.

"Sly..."

She found herself enjoying the night with the wizard. There was so much for him to learn about her former life, and he, surprisingly, listened the entire night. It was weird, but it was a good weird.

"These look so odd." Malfoy took a paper, looking at it closely. "Who is this woman?" He pointed at the artwork on the money.

"The queen of England."

"England has a queen?"

She laughed again, nodding. "Yes, we've had a queen for many,  _many_  years now, and it's not going to change anytime soon."

"How does money work here?" he asked in a demanding manner, setting the paper back onto the black tray.

Hermione pulled out a few bills with some coins and ordered them according to their value. "Paper money is called pounds. These tokens are called pence. There is one hundred pence to a pound. Our pounds come in one, two, five, ten, twenty, and fifty bills. It's the same with our coins." She pointed to each piece as she explained. "The important part the value of our  _wizard_  currency to  _muggle_  currency - a knut is equivalent to one pence. Easy." Hermione pulled took out three coins, each of them embossed with the words 'Gringotts Bank.' "One sickel is roughly equivalent to thirty pence, and one galleon is about five pounds."

"Such weird exchanges."

"Yes, well, what's even harder is when you convert our British  _wizarding_  currency to, let's say, American wizarding currency to American muggle currency."

"Let me guess, you know all the exchange rates for that, too?"

**xxx**

"Here, try this-" She handed him a small glass filled with brownish liquid while placing two pints of beer on the wooden table next to the blonde.

Malfoy took it, frowning at the unpleasant appearance of the beverage. "What is it?"

"Just try it!" Hermione scoffed, clinking the shot glass against his before shooting it down. Her face scrunched in a grimace as the alcohol burned down her throat. "Aah!" she exclaimed, sticking out her tongue, sucking in the cool air.

The wizard followed suit, though the effects of the drink didn't elicit much of an expression from him. "Oh, it tastes like firewhiskey." He looked at the empty glass with an approving nod. "It's a little bit of the sweeter end, though."

"Mhm," she sucked in her cheek, trying to get the bitter taste out of her mouth by swallowing some saliva. Clearly, she wasn't  _nearly_  as an experienced drinker as her companion, given the last time she consumed more than two shots of bourbon had her passed out in his bed. Hermione felt her cheeks reddening, though unsure whether it was from the drink or from her memory of that embarrassing evening. "We call it a fireball shot."

"Interesting."

Though they were well into the evening, there was still a sizeable crowd at Pop Brixton. Hermione leaned against the railing, looking over toward the ground floor. They had ventured their way up to the second story, where one of the more populated bar was hosted. The music was loud, eclectic, and exciting.

"How often do you venture out this far?" He moved next to her, glancing down at the other people. Everyone was doing something, enjoying the night and having a great time. Some danced, others chatted, and even a few of the more burly men seemed to have started a drinking competition amongst each other.

Some of the younger crowds shrieked and laughed, taking selfies, immortalizing their weekend. "Mm," she started, thinking back to the last time she was here. "Not all too often. Most of the time it was just to take my mind off things - after the war, after my breakup - just to get a different perspective on things." She took a sip of the bubbly alcohol and licked the top of her lip, wiping away the foam. "Just to remind myself that there's more to life than just what I surround myself with."

"Are you always so introspective?"

Hermione chuckled against the rim of her glass. "If not me, then who?"

* * *

For some time, they watched drunkards and pretty girls alike wander about. Some hailed a cab for themselves, their destination being home or even the next bar. Others would occasionally notice Granger, himself, and the others, who were all peering over the railings, and waved. The witch would always smile and wave back, though he was sure they weren't always looking in their direction.

Draco had finished his glass of beer rather quickly. Who knew muggles could conjure such addicting beverages? She must have noticed him fumbling around with his empty mug and gave him a few of the bills she'd shown him earlier. "Just go up to the bar and order whatever you want on the menu."

"How will I know what to get?" He took the cash anyway.

"Where's your sense in adventure?" She shot him a smirk before turning her back towards him, her attention back on the people downstairs.

The helpless wizard then made his way over towards the bar Granger pointed out earlier. There were a scattered few ordering drinks, and others were enchanted by a moving screen hanging from the ceiling. He stared at it for a moment until the bartender caught his attention.

"What can I get you, sweetheart?" the cute woman piped up, giving the blonde a toothy smile.

Draco pinched his chin as he quickly diverted his attention towards the row of bottles. They came in all sorts of sizes and colors; the labels on these bottles didn't help him much, either. What was a Stella...Stella Artois?  _Artoys_? One beer bottle had a giant 'T' on it, which - it didn't even mean anything!

After what felt like ages to him, trying to figure out what beer was what - and let's be honest, he never figured it out - he finally asked the petite bartender, "Ah, yes, uh, what's good?"

**xxx**

"What did you get?" Granger glanced over towards Draco as he returned to her, handing her whatever change was left over.

"A pilsner?" he responded; though, it was more of a question. In the end, the bartender gave him whatever was her favorite. He'd asked way too many questions and understood next to nothing about beer and was just taking up too much time when there were other customers waiting to be served. "It's okay." Draco shrugged as he took a sip of the beer. It, certainly, wasn't the worst drink he's ever had. "Here's the rest of your change."

She took coins, dropping them into her satchel. "Was it hard to figure out how to use the money?"

The wizard boasted, rolling his eyes. "Simple arithmetic." In reality, and he would never admit it to Granger, Draco couldn't remember the exchange rate and ended up throwing the wad of cash at the poor bartender.

"Simple, indeed," she commented, though her response was paired with an arched brow, almost in disbelief.

"You doubt me?" Draco feigned offense. He took a sip of a beer, and an explosion of crisp refreshing floral flavor filled his mouth. It was different from the one Granger purchased, which was fruitier and sweeter, perhaps something more along her taste.

He pulled a wooden stool over towards the railing, his legs and knees tired from standing the past few hours. They continued to watch the patrons downstairs, plenty more now intoxicated and many more calling a cab to end their night. Draco was almost sure it was past Granger's bedtime.

"I had a thought," Granger started, pulling her nest of a hair over her left shoulder, bundling the strands together with her hand. "About the gadget -that night in New York-"

"-Don't," Draco interjected quickly, stopping her from talking anymore.

"But-" She turned towards him, a crease was forming between her brows and a frown was setting in.

"Not tonight, alright?" He sighed, taking a giant swig of his bubbly beverage and set it down onto the round pub table.

"We have to talk about this; we've been putting it off for so long now."

The wizard reached forward, wrapped his slender fingers around her curls, tugging on them gently, and pulled her towards him. "Then what's another night?" He spoke lowly. Their eyes locked, her brown eyes staring into his.

Silence hugged them as they became lost in their own world, completely unaware of their surroundings. His other hand found its way towards her face, cupping her cheek. His thumb traced along her jawline, and he watched her nibble nervously at her lower lip.

"Are you sure?" she questioned. Maybe it was the alcohol or maybe it was just how Granger was (Draco was sure it was the latter), but she just didn't want to let go of the subject, regardless of their current state of mind. "I mean..." Granger whispered, her eyes darting towards her lips, "I have some pretty good ideas on what we could do to-"

He groaned loudly, thoroughly annoyed, and placed a finger over her lips, momentarily shutting her up. "Not tonight, alright?"

"...okay."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pop Brixton is a real place in London! I tried to keep it as real as possible, and even the restaurant I described was real. If you ever visit or live in the area, I was talking about Zoe's Ghana Kitchen! Unfortunately, during my short time in London, I didn't get the opportunity to visit Pop Brixton, but it's definitely on my to visit list for when I go back again!


	16. Debt and Equity

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm still waiting for life to kind of go back to normal.
> 
> I don't remember if I mentioned, but my dad's sick. A week back we had to take him to the ER because he couldn't breathe. He spent an entire night there getting oxygen and having medicine and steroids injected into him. Luckily, he came out better, but it's still been really stressful on the rest of the family.
> 
> *sigh* I wish life was easier sometimes. That or I just have a stupid amount of money to take care of my family without having to worry about not being able to pay off bills or what will happen to my dad the next week.
> 
> But I'm really grateful for all ya'lls support. It really makes my day better seeing your reviews! All the shout outs to my wonderful friend, Mr. Benzedrine, for editing my silly mistakes and laughing at my writing. It feels good to be back writing again.

 

A few days passed since Granger and Draco's night out. They hadn't quite spoken to each other much, save for the confirmation correspondence to meet at Cattermole's office. Granger was probably busy with work and Draco, well, he was being himself. But, after getting everyone onto the same schedule, they were  _finally_  going to sign all the paperwork. It was long overdue, but then again, it was mainly  _his_ fault for throwing tantrums after tantrums.

Days crawled on by without having the bossy witch by his side, but when it finally arrived, the silence between the pair was all too familiar. It was as if their bonding at Brixton Pop made no difference!

They sat in the cluttered office, filled with stacks upon stacks of documents. He imagined it looked quite like Granger's studio when company wasn't expected. Draco couldn't begin to comprehend  _why_ someone would want to take on a position where their job was read memo after memo of the same paraphrased subject. Then again, if there was no one like Cattermole, Draco wouldn't be sitting in the office, just a few more signatures away from finally able to open up his  _first legitimate_  store.

In his head, he apologized and recanted his discourteous thoughts.

At some point, while lost in his musings, he found himself staring at the brunette sitting next to him. Draco didn't realise he'd been looking at the witch, and thankfully, she took no notice.

She sat there, oblivious, staring down at the extra paperwork she'd brought with her and hummed quietly to herself. Her dainty fingers flipped through each page as her brown eyes skimmed the carefully written texts - perhaps to double check her spelling and grammar. Draco wouldn't have been surprised if that  _was_ the case.

He noticed Granger wore a Gryffindor ( _puke_ ) red blouse and a pair of black slacks.  _Clearly_ , fashion was  _still_ not her strong suit. He bit his tongue and held back a snide comment on her attire. If there was an elective the, figuratively, blind witch should have taken, it was fashion. But then again, her lack of common sense in couture probably wouldn't have made a difference later on in life.

Draco continued to watch her as she kept reading on. Curiosity, for a moment, got the best of him as he stretched his neck in an attempt to make out what was on the paper. He wasn't sure whether it was work related or extracurricular.

Granger shifted, and Draco returned to his previous posture while staring at the brunette. She lifted her heavy stack of archives and crossed her legs, resting the left leg over her right knee. Then, he noticed something - his steely orbs darted from her face down to her long legs to her shoes. He stifled a laugh and cleared his throat.

"What?" she looked up suddenly, giving the wizard a peculiar look.

He debated whether to save her from embarrassment or just have her figure it out on her own. It took him but a moment to make his decision. "I've been to your flat," Draco stated plainly.

Her brows formed a crease on her forehead.

"-Don't do that, you'll get wrinkles," he commented before continuing. "And you own a mirror."

Granger rubbed her brow ridges in an attempt to smooth out her skin. "Yes? How is this relevant?"

"I hope you use it."

"I mean..." she began, hesitating. Okay - clearly she  _didn't_. "S-sometimes?"

Draco glanced down at her shoes once more, hoping Granger would get his hint, and when she didn't catch on, he sighed. "Your shoes don't match."

He watched her as her eyes widened, looking down at her own attire and lifting the hem of her slacks. "Oh, Merlin!" she gasped in a horrid shock. "How did I miss that?" Granger quickly conjured her robe, throwing the piece of fabric over her legs in an attempt to cover her mishap. Her cheeks reddened, embarrassed.

"Why don't you just transfigure it into a matching pair?" he commented in a bored drawl, though he was far from being so.

"No!" Granger hissed. "I don't want to ruin the integrity of the material."

"What?" He looked taken aback. "Never knew you to be so materialistic."

"I am not," the witch huffed back, offended. "They're just both really expensive pairs."

Draco grinned, arching his brows. "Correct me if I am wrong, but I do believe that is the  _definition_ of being materialistic."

"Oh, shut it. You and your quips." Granger's cheeks reddened further as she readjusted her outfit. Her left leg slipped off the other and she crossed her ankles, tucking her feet under the chair and out of view.

The blonde couldn't help but smile at her reaction.

Granger's minor fiasco was quickly forgotten when Cattermole entered the room. "I do apologise," he started, shaking both parties' hands. "Some other clients held me up longer than intended."

"No need for apologies," the witch smiled. "You're doing us quite the favor seeing us again."

Draco gave a terse nod in agreement.

"Just doing my job," the older man chuckled, pulling out a long parchment. "Now, shall we begin?"

* * *

"All those signing took longer than I expected." Malfoy stretched his arms and fingers above his head as they left Cattermole's office. His eyes darted over to the large clock mounted on a wall not too far from them. "Blimey, we were there for nearly two hours!"

Hermione hummed in agreement, though she wasn't entirely paying attention. She organized the signed copies, making sure they were all in order and alphabetized before placing them into a manilla folder. The witch had asked for all the documents to be duplicated so she would have her own files on hand.

"Are you busy?" She glanced up towards the wizard. "I've got a few places I want to show you now that we have everything signed and out of the way."

Her shoes weren't far from her mind, and every time they moved a single inch, Hermione would make sure to readjust her outfit so they didn't look too out of place.

"Not until the evening." The blonde looked at the clock once more. "Though, given on how  _fast_ we've been moving today, I'm almost afraid to say we wouldn't have time to look around."

"Oh, quiet you. It only took as long as it did because I wanted to make sure everything was accounted for. You'll thank me in the future." She tugged at her slacks, smoothing out the wrinkles. "It won't take but a fraction of your time."

"If you insist."

The pair Apparated to Diagon Alley, not far from the Leaky Cauldron. From there, they could see the corner of Weasley's Wizard Wheezes. Children of all ages were running in and out of the store. Screams of laughter could be heard all down the narrow street.

The strip wasn't too busy this time of year - at least, not in comparison to the start of the term at Hogwarts or during Christmas time or even All Hallow's Eve, but it was still packed with witches and wizards alike, shopping for whatever goods came to mind.

"I researched a few places," she started, speaking over the dozens of voices. "They're all in Diagon Alley, since I remember you mentioned you wanted to have your first shop opened here." Hermione gestured to the wizard as he shifted his weight from one foot to another. It was clear he was uncomfortable being in such a crowded area. Even Hermione noticed the scowls and glares being shot in their direction. In contrast to the muggle world, just his looks alone made him stand out like an unwanted vermin, and to the wizarding world, that's exactly what he was.

She pursed her lips when he failed to notice her speaking to him. "Ignore them," she demanded, grabbed his wrist, and led him in the direction of the joke shop.

Still, the usually quippy wizard remained silent. Malfoy didn't have to say anything, not that he wanted to; his aura spoke for him.

"Here." Hermione came to a stop in front of an empty store. She glanced back at him as his attention finally snapped onto her then to the shop. "Let's go in." The door was unlocked for them to enter and take a look around. She had spoken to the realtor earlier this morning asking for permission.

Even though Hermione did read up on the details of the store, it was considerably smaller than she expected. There wasn't much one could do with one thousand two hundred square feet, but something  _was_  better than nothing.

"It's a bit... compact, don't you think?" Draco was finally back in his element, away from all the judging faces.

"A bit," she agreed. "But, it's better to start small, then work your way up into bigger facilities." Hermione watched as Malfoy surveyed the area; his eyes were narrow and his lips thin in concentration. She couldn't tell at all what was going through his mind.

The store was, obviously, not to the usual Malfoy high-end standards, but these days, one couldn't be too terribly picky.

"How many other shops are we looking at?" He turned to her after the inspection.

"Two," Hermione responded. "They're all along this strip, so we don't have much walking to do."

Once Malfoy was finished with his tour, they stepped back outside. The sun glared brightly down onto the pair, temporarily blinding their eyes. When Hermione was finally able to blink away the black spots from her vision, she noticed there was a disgusted look on the pale wizard's face.

"What's wrong?" she asked, confused.

The man responded with a simple finger point towards the other side of the street.

_Oh._

Hermione gave him an apologetic smile, secretly hoping he wouldn't notice the gaudy red window frames and a freckled animatronic Weasley lifting and setting his top hat every few seconds. The shop was quite literally a couple of feet away from Weasley's Wizard Wheezes.

"So, first you show me a small store..." Malfoy looked over towards Hermione, who shrugged at the accusation. "But you also thought it was acceptable that it is next to the Weasley's place?" As if having something  _smaller_  was a blow to his ego. "Let's cross this one off this list."

"But-" Hermione countered, hoping to change his mind before he completely disregarded it. "Think about it like this: there is a lot of foot traffic going this way. The Weasley's store accrues hundreds of customers a day, and because of their success, the surrounding stores have seen their sales go up as well!" The witch pulled out a sheet of paper, ready to show proof. On it were the finances of neighboring shops.

The blonde looked taken aback. "How did you even get these numbers?"

"Don't worry about it - here, look!" Hermione nearly shoved it in his face. "Your sales could be through the roof like theirs! Consider it!"

The wizard snatched the parchment from her hands, taking a quick look, though he remained uninterested. "Fine," he said finally, but Hermione had a feeling he was saying it only to have her back off. "Let's go see the other places before we decide anything."

It was a fair compromise, and with that, the satisfied witch led her partner further into Diagon Alley, though not before hearing, "Who in their right mind would want to stare at  _that_  everyday?"

The next store, while it was about twice the size, was still not in the most favorable location. Hermione could tell from the look of Malfoy's terribly masked poker face that he wasn't really vibing with it. In fact, it also wasn't Hermione's top choice, but again,  _something_  was better than nothing.

She had made up her mind to tell the stubborn man who decided none of these locations worked for him that he should just set up shop in the streets and see if people would buy his products then.

"I don't think it would be fair to compete with the Quidditch shop next door," Malfoy muttered as they stepped into the empty room.

"Fair point," she agreed, glancing back out the window. "But they sell retail products - mostly jerseys from professional teams and memorabilia. Save from the occasional broomsticks and children's product, they won't be selling what you sell."

Her eyes darted around the dusty store. While the product from the previous establishment were cleared out, some furniture remained, and it could be useful for interior decorating. Having the shop come furnished would saved time and money.

Malfoy's store wasn't going to be the typical Quidditch supply store. Yes, he was going to sell the standard goggles and gloves (though, at a higher quality, Hermione insisted), but his main marketing point was the uniqueness that most of the other Quidditch companies didn't offer. Aside from carefully charmed equipments, they were going to be customized and built for the user - a bespoke store of sort.

"Let's bookmark this one," he said to her, sounding disappointed in her selections so far. "I feel weird about competing with a store that's been around for decades."

Without another word, the two of them left the facility and made way to their last stop.

The final store was across from Gringotts bank. It was the biggest of the three, and in Hermione's opinion, the best place to sell any sort of retail goods. In fact, she was quite surprised to see a store of such optimal placement empty and unused.

"Maybe it's haunted," he said in a slow drawl as they entered.

It was great and grand and just recently emptied out. There wasn't a speck of dust lingering in the vacant room, and a great big chandelier hung from the ceiling. Crystalled jewels glimmered as the sun's rays refracted through.

This location had everything  _Hermione_  could have wanted in a store.

The walls were made of rich mahogany panels with matching hardwood. The light was bright and not of those yellowish hue that made people look ill and tired. It was perfect for those who wanted to try on outfits; it made them look more appealing.

There was also a set of stairs, in the back of the store, which led up into a narrow hallway. Two doors were mounted against the walls: one facing outwards towards the front, and the other the opposite.

"This would be perfect for an office," she smiled as they entered the first room. "We could enchant this wall and look out onto the floor. The other, with so much room, would make great storage space."

Malfoy agreed. His spirits seemed to have lifted after the two of them walked back downstairs.

"Can't you picture how your store would look?" Hermione closed her eyes as her imagination painted a vivid scene on what  _Draco Ascendens_  would look like. When she opened her eyes, they were met with Malfoy's icy orbs staring at her with an entertained look. "So?" She cleared her throat, ignoring the fact that she just made herself look awfully silly in front of the wizard. "What do you think?"

"Couldn't you have shown me this place first?" he smirked in response, slipping his hands in the pockets of his robe. His tone was approving.

"I could have," Hermione admitted with a nod, "but I was building you up for this one, so you'd be more likely to say yes to it."

"I see you're quite keen on wasting my time."

"Oh, do you have other more important matters to attend?" She stuck her tongue out at him; her words oozed with sarcasm. "I do,  _greatly_ , apologize, your Highness." Hermione gave the wizard a half-curtsy.

* * *

Draco and Granger were seated at the ground floor of the Leaky Cauldron. Just as he predicted, a few hours passed since their stroll through Diagon and the vacant facilities. The two of them continued to chatter on about the last store. It was, clearly, their favorite.

"The only thing, though," Granger mentioned after taking a sip of her piping hot black tea. "The shop is next to the bank, and it's far bigger than the other two - it's going to cost more to rent." She was giving him a worried look, though he wasn't sure if that was a default expression or not. The witch tend to worry about many things.

"Continue," he said, prepping himself for the bad news. It was always bad news with him. Since when did good things ever happen to Draco? Malfoy was a cursed name nowadays.

The witch hesitated, quickly taking another swig at her beverage. She grimaced as it painfully rolled down her throat. "It's out of your budget." And there it was. Did that mean he had to choose the other two places, then? Why even bother showing him the last location if she knew it was out of his price range?

Draco inhaled, prepping himself for a great, big, depressing sigh before Granger spoke up once more. "But -but, there is something we  _could_ do instead."

"What is that?" He sighed anyway.

"I could put down my name and pay a portion of the rent. We're partners anyway, right? It's only fair.."

"The catch?"

Her brows furrowed at his comment, obviously confused. "There is none?"

"Out of goodwill and charity?" he remarked with a lick of scorn.

"A favor for a friend," she mumbled quietly, looking down at her drink.

Draco cleared his throat.  _Well, shit_. Should he apologise? Granger had done so much for him only for him to snap at her, assuming she was treating him as if he was some beggar. Silence hung between them for a moment as he debated with himself, but he couldn't bring himself to apologise, so instead, he said, "Okay."

Her warm brown eyes shot up at him, wide and alert. "Okay?" Granger tried to look serious, but the corner of her lips twitched upwards.

"Okay." He exhaled a quiet laugh, relieved his prior comment didn't weigh heavily on her.

"Okay!" she exclaimed, albeit a bit too loudly as others in the establishment turned their eyes towards them. Immediately, Granger lowered her voice. "I'll get the necessary paperwork from the realtor. I'll sign what needs to be signed and then pass on whatever is necessary for you to inscribe as well."

The witch was almost shaking with excitement. Her feet made quiet pitter patter noises, and he was quite sure her mismatched shoes were out of mind.

"This is amazing!" Granger clapped her hands together, grinning from ear to ear. For a moment, she was emanating excitement all over a body, and then a split second later, a horrified expression stuck onto her face. "Oh! I've got to get going." She looked down onto her wrist watch. "I have dinner with Harry."

They both groaned.

"Why - I know why I'm groaning," Draco looked at the witch with a raised eyebrow.  _Potter._  The man always knew how to ruin a good mood, and he didn't even have to be present to do so! Just the mention of his name... "Why are  _you_ groaning?"

Granger sighed, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. He noticed it was something she did regularly. "Harry just came back from one of his missions - or whatever it is that Aurors go off to - and he's probably going to try and talk me into apologizing to Ron and mend our friendship. Something like that."

"Ever the peacemaker," he joked.

"More like Harry Potter the Hermione Guilt Tripper," Granger retorted and rolled her eyes.

Draco chuckled at her comment. "Well, try not to buy into his pity party, yes?"

"No promises there."

* * *

Hermione nearly kicked off her shoes when she Apparated home. She was reminded of her mismatched attire, no thanks to Malfoy, and her cheeks grew pink at the thought of earlier today.

At least no one else noticed - or so she hoped.

With the help of magic, it didn't take her long to get ready for dinner. Hermione couldn't imagine what female muggles had to go through to dress up. Especially if one had stubborn hair like hers. In fact, even  _with_  her skills, often times her hair just didn't want to comply. Who knew DNA could be stronger than magic?

She checked in the mirror one last time just to make sure  _everything_ was matching.  _See, Malfoy, I_ do  _use the mirror!_  Hermione smiled at herself before she Apparated back outside the Leaky Cauldron. She was to return to muggle London for an evening out with her best friend.

There were plenty of methods getting to London, such as using random telephone booths to going through the changing room at Madam Malkin's or even using the loo at the Three Broomsticks. Witches and wizards always found odd ways of getting into London. In the end, Hermione preferred the Leaky. It was the least troublesome since everyone there usually kept to themselves. For a long time after the war, she and the other two often found themselves surrounded by curious crowds, always wanting to know their whereabouts. It was tiresome, and they learned that Leaky was always the most reliable method of transporting themselves out into London. Since then, it just stuck with Hermione; plus, being  _literally_ sucked down the toilet wasn't much fun.

Aside from these recent days, it'd actually been a while since Hermione stepped foot into the city proper. She didn't have much reason to visit the muggle world. Everything she needed she could purchase at Diagon or any other nearby wizarding community.

Magic and technology never played nice with each other; it was one of the many wonders of the world. It was always exciting to see what was new in the world, and it never disappointed.

Since her argument with Ron, Hermione spent most of her working hours in muggle London. She never strayed too far from the popular pub situated between a big bookstore and a record store. In fact, there was a small coffee shop not six units away where she spent most of her day. Hermione was there so often, the baristas began to recognize her.

She chose to stay out of her office at Weasley's Wizard Wheezes, since she'd rather not get in another riff raff with Ron, let alone see his  _repulsive_ freckled face. Even though the redhead grew up with two best friends who were born and raised in the muggle world and had a father who was in love with all things non-magic, the man still wasn't comfortable surrounding himself with things that weren't enchanted. It wasn't a hard concept to grasp...he was just lazy.  _Typical_.

After stepping into an elevator, Hermione found herself in front of a high end restaurant called Fenchurch Restaurant. Her eyes widened as she looked at the decor. The dim white lighting illuminated the area.  _Oh, I'm definitely not dressed well enough for this..._  She mentally berated herself. It wasn't like Hermione to be so airheaded; after all, she was known for over-researching, if it  _was_ such a thing.

A young woman addressed Hermione as she stepped through the glass double door, which was opened for her by greeters. The witch felt like royalty. "Good evening, and welcome to Skygarden's Fenchurch Restaurant. Do you have a reservation with us tonight?"

"Ah, yes," Hermione muttered, her attention momentarily fixated onto the giant glass windows to her left. She must have been really in her head to have not notice how far the elevators had taken her up. The entire city of London was in her view! How magnificent! "I believe the reservation is under Potter."

The hostess smiled and nodded as she checked her computer. "Give me a moment, please," she said with a faint frown. "The computer is acting up. It's odd; we just bought this, and it's already happened twice tonight. Ah! Okay, here we go." Her manicured finger poked the screen of the monitor as her bright green eyes scanned through the names and tables. "Looks like Mister Potter has already checked in. If you'll follow me, I'll be more than happy to show you the way."

Hermione followed the woman, feeling quite out of place. Everywhere around her, the guests were all dressed in beautiful and formal attires, while she donned a simple beige dress with her hair bundled into a messy (but carefully styled) bun.

She could recognize the back of the man's head anywhere. His black, unkempt hair stuck out every which way, much like hers. Hermione thanked the hostess and walked up to the corner booth, excited to see her best friend. He always told the most entertaining stories, catching Death Eaters who ran away after the war or even just the people he would meet on his travels.

Just as quickly as it came, all her excitement waned away when she caught a glimpse of flaming red hair. Though, thankfully, it didn't belong to Ron, but a person much worse - her other best friend, Ginny. Hermione's heart sank into her stomach and for the second time today, Hermione groaned out loud.

It was an ambush!

The couple in front of her stopped mid-conversation and turned to look at the new arrival. "Hermione!" Ginny exclaimed, nearly jumping out of her booth to greet the gloomy witch.

She begrudgingly hugged the redhead and muttered a "hello."

"Oh, don't be such a Debbie Downer. You know you're happy to see me."

Hermione's and Harry's eyes met as Ginny continued to talk, and he gave his friend a pitiable smile and mouthed 'hi Hermione.' Looking at him, Hermione could tell this wasn't his idea.

"So," she slipped off her black overcoat and took a seat across from the couple. "Why are we in such a nice place?"

"Ginny insisted, even though I told her we could just have dinner at home." Harry sighed, exhausted. He must have just come back to London and didn't even have time to relax before the always energetic Ginny yanked him off the couch and forced him to dress up. Though Harry Potter was famous and, not to mention, loaded, he always preferred a regular t-shirt and jeans. He never looked quite right in a suit. She couldn't begin to imagine what he would look like in a tuxedo during his wedding.

Hermione glanced down at the menu. There wasn't a lot of options, which honestly, she preferred it that way. Too many choices made her head spin, and it took even longer for her to decide what she wanted. But the witch still cringed after a brief glance. The prices were way too high.

"Oh, it's not like you don't make enough to easily eat for ten," Ginny scoffed, noting her rigid look.

"Just because I have money doesn't mean I should just spend it however I'd like," Hermione retorted. Most of her hard earned income was stored in her savings account for emergency uses.

A waiter stopped by their table while the two women bickered back and forth about money. It was harmless, really. "Good evening, my name is Seeley, and I will be your server tonight. Can I start you off with anything to drink? Perhaps a nice glass of wine off our drink menu?"

"I think we'll need a few more minutes," Hermione responded. "I haven't had the chance to look." Seeley nodded. "Three glasses of water will suffice for now."

"Of course." The waiter walked off, tended to other customers before disappearing around back.

"So, out with it," Hermione demanded once the waiter was out of sight.

"With what?" Harry turned to his best friend with a quizzical expression.

"Isn't this what the whole  _get together_ is for?"

Ginny scoffed, giving Hermione a crooked smile. "You think we're here to talk to you about  _Ron_?"

The waiter returned with three water goblets. "Do we need a few more minutes?" he asked, and the three nodded in succession. With yet another polite nod, the man walked off.

"Why else are we here?" Hermione asked after taking a sip of her chilled beverage. She glanced out towards the window; a sliver of orange still remained from the setting sun, casting a warm hue over the still bustling city. It, truly, was a wondrous view.

"Oh, Ron is a sodding bellend. He can go fu-"

"-Ginny!" Hermione and Harry gasped, quickly interrupting her.

"At least lower your voice," her fiancé followed, taking notice of other patrons' expressions as they heard her crude language. "And that's your brother - and my best man you're speaking ill of."

The freckled woman rolled her eyes. "Exactly why I can talk about him the way I do." She paused to take a drink. "Anyway, we're here to talk about..." Ginny looked around, finally lowering her voice. " _You-know-who_."

She squinted her eyes, giving her friend a confused look. "Volde...mort?" she asked slowly, unsure how to answer Ginny.

The redhead leaned back into her seat. "Okay, maybe I should have been clearer," she chuckled at her own mistake. What after seemed like an eternity of silence, she nearly shouted, "Draco!"

Hermione, who was taking another sip of her water to pass time, nearly spat it out at the exclamation of his name. "What-" she coughed. "Why are we talking about  _Malfoy_?"

"Look at her, pretending to act all coy." Ginny nudged her fiancée and grinned. Hermione rolled her eyes. "Harry told me what you did for... _Draco..._ with his house and all." The woman gave the other a dangerous look.

Though she and Ginny had some girl time with Luna, Hermione never once brought up the favor she asked of Harry. "It slipped my mind?" She shrugged, knowing her answer wouldn't satisfy her friend once the cat was finally out of the bag.

Yes, Ginny was her best friend, and yes, Hermione told her most of the things that went on between her and Malfoy, but for some reason, she didn't feel like it was necessary to tell the redhead about their visit to the manor. To Ginny, it was just another evidence to pile into the 'why Hermione and Malfoy should get together' binder. The redhead still remembered (quite vividly) of their kiss all those weeks ago. It was just the one time, too! And it never happened since!  _Not that they didn't try..._  Hermione confessed to herself.

The older witch debated, weighing the pros and cons of the situation. Judging by her best friend's miserable expression, he didn't know about the kiss, and Hermione surely didn't want him to find out. Hermione had a nasty feeling the poor wizard had already too much on his plate, and Ginny was probably holding the kiss as leverage to get more information out of her.

_Shit._  Maybe she should have told Ginny about the house visitation.  _Why didn't I consider that?_  The woman could be so spiteful when she wanted to be - even when it was against her own friends.

"Okay," Hermione sighed, taking yet another sip of her half empty goblet. At this point, she was drinking to purposely delay the conversation. Hermione hoped something would happen in the time she finally finished her water, but nothing did. "Okay," she said again. "So, as you know, we -er, Malfoy-"

" _-Draco-_ "

"-Ginny-"

"-What? She needs to get used to it." There was a wide smile plastered on her freckled face.

" _Malfoy_ ," Hermione insisted, only to receive an annoyed click of the tongue from Ginny. "Malfoy and I started working together..." She went on to explain her situation and even went into detail with Harry on Malfoy's business plan. The wizard revealed midstory that he knew about the blonde's ventures, of course, no thanks to Ginny.

At least she was able to keep  _one_ secret...

Aside from Harry's comment, he maintained a perplexed look, unsure how to respond and quite frankly, unsure why the story was relevant to...well,  _anything_. But, he did get his answer on why Hermione needed to have the house: to lift Malfoy's dampened spirits.

Ginny, on the other hand, was nodding in agreement the entire time.

Hermione still didn't understand why this was all necessary - having her tell her side of the situation at a fancy restaurant, no less. If Ginny was so against Ron's actions and was so interested in the storytelling, wouldn't being together, at either her loft or their house, drinking a glass of wine have been enough?

After Hermione was through with her story, which didn't take long given how talented the witch was at word vomiting, the waiter showed up asking if they were ready once more. Ginny rudely shooed the man away, saying they were waiting for another guest.

When Seeley left, Hermione scowled. "So, Ron  _is_  showing up."

"Oh, no, no, none of that-" The bride to be waved her off as if it was nothing.

"Then  _who_?" Hermione was curious.

"Nevermind you  _who_ ," Ginny smiled. Oh, it was a wicked smile. It was the 'I'm up to no good smile' that Harry and Hermione learned through their years of adventuring together.

Honestly, had she been sorted into Slytherin, Hermione was sure Ginny and Malfoy would have made the best of friends. The pair of them would run the school grounds with the cunning ways. "Say, Hermione, do you remember asking if I could relay the message to the Holyhead Harpies about prototyping the Quidditch gears?"

"Wait a minute-" The brunette witch held out her hands, stopping the conversation from progressing. "We're just going to ignore everything I told you and move on to a new topic? Like that?" The three of them looked at each other, waiting for an answer. Then, Ginny simply said 'yes' and moved on. Hermione sighed. She was mentally exhausted and couldn't keep up with Ginny. The woman was on a whole different level of hyper. "Okay, yes, I do remember. What of it?"

Hermione had relayed the message to Ginny during one of the weeks (Hermione lost track which) when Malfoy decided he wanted to be a shut in and give her the silent treatment. She spent a great amount of time complaining to her best friend, while making wedding preparations, and finally asked for a favor. Of course, with Ginny, it was a 'take a penny, leave a penny' kind of deal, and it was even  _more so_  with best friends.

"Well, I spoke to them! And they said they'd love to give it a shot during a live practice or during a preseason game."

"Oh, that's wonderful!" Hermione smiled at the news. "I'm sure Malfoy will be pleased to hear that."

"Hm, yes," her friend agreed. "Speaking of the man - I invited him over for dinner tonight."

"What?!" the witch hissed, careful not to raise her voice much. "Why didn't you tell me this before? In fact, why did you invite him out in the first place?"

"I reached out to him before-"

"-When?"

"Doesn't matter, and I figured we could have a get together-" Ginny said with a wink. "And chat over things. Be a bit more  _buddy-buddy_ since I'm sure he'll be appearing more in our lives."

Harry finally piped up after being so very uncharacteristically quiet. "What do you mean  _appearing_ more in our lives?"

The redhead giggled. "Because he's Hermione's business partner, of course."

"And  _you_ , Harry Potter," Hermione gave her friend a cross look. "Why didn't you mention this to me?"

"Erm..." The boy who lived shrunk back into his seat. He could defeat the big bad, but to cross a woman's scorn -well, no man in their right mind had the galls to do that.

Luckily, his fiancée was there to save the day. "Oh, he had a suggestion, for Malfoy, after hearing about his concept." Even though Harry spent days on end working at the Ministry of Magic, or even off on assignment hunting down evildoers, he spent plenty of his free time playing Quidditch with his mates and even sparred against his partner's team.

"Why couldn't you talk to me about it?"

"Aren't you two working together? You ought to keep the communication open," Ginny tsk'd at Hermione, briskly shaking her head.

The witch groaned again. This wasn't how she imagined the evening. "We could have had a meeting of sorts. Why over dinner?"

"A meeting? Are you always all work and no play?" a familiar drawl came from behind her, and she sat up straight, turning the upper half of her body around. Their eyes met for a moment, and Hermione noticed a faint twitch at the corner of his lips before his demeanor settled back into it's default: cool.

"G-good evening," she said ever so politely.

Harry sighed.

"Granger-" Malfoy addressed her, then turned his attention towards the couple. "Thank you for having me, Weasley, Potter." Malfoy was never polite to Harry. It was weird.

Ginny couldn't care less about the awkwardness. "Hope you didn't have too much trouble finding the place."

Hermione scooted further into her booth, giving the newly arrived wizard a place to sit.

"I have experience perusing London," he mentioned, glancing over at the woman next to him. While there was plenty of space between the two, Hermione felt there was much too  _little_ space.

* * *

The group was about three bottles of wine in.

Tension between the pride of former Gryffindors and the lone Slytherin was nearly gone, though it still lingered in the air here and there. The evening, much to Draco's surprise, went rather well. Snarky comments were thrown back and forth between him and the group, but it was nothing he couldn't handle.

Weasley was in the middle of telling one of her many stories about her teammates when the waiter brought out their dessert. Draco was ever the sucker for sweets and ordered himself a double chocolate mousse cake. His mouth instantly watered at the sight of the delectable goodness.

As he sank his fork into the brown, fluffy mound, he noticed the redhead nudging Potter, and immediately the war hero cleared his throat, hoping to grab Draco's attention. The blonde arched a brow in curiosity. Draco quickly shoved a piece of the cake into his mouth before Potter spoke. At least he got a little bit of a taste.

"I spoke to Ginny about your business, and an idea came to me," Potter spoke slowly as he fumbled his fork around with the lemon meringue. "Do you remember when I received my first broom?"

The blonde blinked. "Of course," he said with a sour tone. "All the first years were envious of the special boy, Harry Potter." He remembered snatching the package away after Potter and Weasel made an attempt to escape the Great Hall. He also remembered being quite awfully peeved (or maybe jealous) that Potter was the exception to the first year rule of not being allowed a broomstick. Draco  _definitely_  remembered Potter playing on the Quidditch team just a few months after school starting. He paused a moment. "What of it?"

"Cleansweep and Nimbus brand brooms dominate the market," the spectacled man said. "Why not bring a new competitor in? Make it better and faster - cater it to the new generation."

He had considered it before Potter brought it up. The thought of bringing in a new mount made him wary, given that both previous models have such a long history behind being the best in the market. "I don't have a lot of knowledge in  _broom_  design," he admitted. "Though I'm sure it wouldn't be hard to pick up." Draco did have the second highest scoring marks in school. Did he ever mention that?

"Harry knows a lot about brooms, other than just riding and playing with it," Granger commented innocently as she sipped on her wine. Her cheeks were rosy from the alcohol.

"Quite the shocker for Weaselette, I suppose," quipped Draco.

Weasley chortled, careful not to spit out her dessert. "Yes, well, I'm sure Harry wouldn't mind lending you a hand."

* * *

"Thank you for dinner tonight," Malfoy said as they stepped out into the cold evening.

Hermione shuddered as she bundled her peacoat tightly around her. There were still a few muggles about, so muttering a spell to warm herself up was out of the question. Huddling close to her friends would have to do for now.

The blonde wizard had insisted on paying for the check. It seemed that he was wanting to show off his knowledge of muggle currency, but Harry was quicker and snagged the bill when it arrived.

"Can't believe I'm saying this," Malfoy muttered with a sigh. A big puff of condensation appeared before floating off. "I appreciate the two of you helping us out with the Holyhead Harpies and, I guess, broom work."

Ginny smiled. What was she up to now? "Don't you worry about that. But there is  _something_  you could do to repay us."

The older witch shot her friend a menacing glare, but Ginny ignored her.

"Harry and I are getting married in two months, and last I was told, Hermione was still without a date." The bride to be wrapped her arms around her fiancè's, hugging him tightly. "It would be such a shame for a pretty woman like her to go alone, wouldn't it?"

There must have been a number of different reasons why her cheeks were suddenly burning: alcohol, the cold air, or how about Ginny's scheming comment? Hermione was beyond embarrassed, and her hissing at her best friend to stop did nothing to slow down her assault.

"I'm sure Hermione would love it if you were her date. Why don't you come join us in our festivities? It would be a  _huge_  favor; I know Malfoys don't like keeping tabs, and this one would clear the air between us." The redhead's grin grew wider and wider as she spoke, reminding Hermione of the Cheshire cat.

"I, uh," Malfoy exhaled a laugh, unsure how to respond. "We can discuss that later." He locked eyes with Hermione. Were his cheeks pink, too?

The four of them chattered for a moment longer before parting ways. Ginny and Harry rounded the corner and soon disappeared with a  _pop,_  leaving Hermione and Malfoy standing in front of the restaurant's door alone.

"You could have told me you were coming out tonight," Hermione mentioned, shuddering as a cold breeze kissed her skin.

He smirked. "Seeing your expression was worth it, though."

The witch couldn't help but smile in return, glancing down at her shoes as she adjusted her weight. Her heart skipped a beat as she noticed her right shoe was slightly off colored from the other, only to realize it was merely a shadow, creating a darker hue.

Malfoy cleared his throat, grabbing her attention. "I'll walk you home?"

"Yeah... that'd be nice."

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, starting now, at the end of every chapter, I'm going to give the definition of the vocabulary used in the chapter title since most of them are derived from business terms. This way, you guys understand where I'm coming from and why the titles are the way they are. :D IT'LL BE FUN, I PROMISE. THIS IS TOTALLY NOT A HERMIONE THING.
> 
> Debt and Equity: The sum of liabilities and capital. This should always be equal to total assets.
> 
> This term works for this chapter because there are favors owed by Hermione and Draco (debt). This, to equal the total asset (Ginny and Harry's favors), Hermione and Draco must return said favor (equity), ie: being each other's dates for the wedding!


End file.
